


Once Bitten, Never Shy

by dirtyvalentine



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Art School, Alternate Universe - Bookstore, Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Clubbing, Drunken Confessions, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-21
Updated: 2016-03-28
Packaged: 2018-05-28 04:42:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 24,321
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6315367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dirtyvalentine/pseuds/dirtyvalentine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“It’s a Martini. You seem like a Martini type of guy,” explained the stranger, smiling in the most oblivious way. </p><p>“I’ve never had a Martini in my entire life.”</p><p>“Oh.”</p><p>They just stared at each other for a few seconds, icy blue eyes fixed on the kind, honey gaze of the other man.</p><p>He sighed, resigned. “Can you only afford half a T-shirt?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Modern AU where Laurent is an art student in the French city of Acquitart and Damen offends him by wearing a crop top. 
> 
> This was inspired by an anon conversation I had with delfeur on tumblr. I derailed a bit and this is a mixture of an Art School AU, Coffeeshop AU, Bookstore AU and so many other tropes.

**I**

 

“Darling, you can’t possibly wear that,” she drawled, pulling on the comfy jumper covering him as she passed by, her high heels clinking on the hardwood floor. Laurent just scoffed, folding his arms. This was the first night of his life when he was getting ready to go out in a club and that was mostly the fault of his new friends. Ever since he started studying arts in Acquitart and moved away from Paris, they had been dead set on convincing him to _at least try it_. They begged, they tried to bribe him and, eventually, Vannes promised to model for some life drawing sessions in exchange.

“What if I get cold? What if we have to walk home?” he asked, shooting her a challenging look as he sat down to put on his boots. Jord was waiting outside in the car and, as always, Vannes took way too long on her make up. Laurent could never help but be impressed by her skills, despite the fact that he had to refuse her beauty services at least once a week. He thought his eyebrows were thin enough and he most definitely did not need to take care of his pores. _No, not even with all the pollution in Paris assaulting them_.

“You’re almost definitely gonna be cold, looking like a frigid monk of sorts. Nobody’s gonna get close enough to warm you up,” she laughed, winking and unlocking the door.

He was silent for most of the journey there. Acquitart was a small city, mostly known for its famous Art Academy and its bustling nightlife, comprised mainly of gay venues. The club they were going to was called Vere and it was close enough, but it was always preferable to get a car ride. Vannes and Jord bitched about everything and everyone while Laurent simply rested his head on the window and watched the lights and the people getting more and more pronounced as they got closer to the centre of the city.

Vere was everything Vannes promised, and more, to Laurent’s horror. There was no line outside but there was a sea of people just smoking, flowing in and out through the large doors and getting lost in the spectacle of colourful lights and sounds. “Fuck me, it’s a busy night,” he heard Jord muttering as he parked the car. Thankfully, students couldn’t afford driving that often so there was enough space close to the entrance.

Laurent pulled his jacket closer to his body and followed them inside, trying to avoid physical contact with people as much as he could. About half the crowd was made out of topless, glitter covered, muscular men and he vomited a bit in his mouth. Relief rushed over him when Jord picked a table at the very back of the venue, where they could access the exit and the bar but where they were far enough from the dance floor. “This is positively disgusting,” he grimaced, taking off his leather jacket and sitting down.

“Cheer up, party pooper.” Vannes placed a large Cosmopolitan in front of him. He grimaced again.

“Have you seen those disgusting creatures by the door? One of them was wearing _nothing_ but a jockstrap!” he almost screeched, grabbing the drink and taking a big gulp. He could make it. Just one night. One night and he was free.

Both Jord and Vannes laughed. “Can you believe he’s never been into a club before? Hell, you lived in Paris, kid. What did you do with your life?” asked Jord, taking a swing from his lemon beer.

“I studied and I worked my ass off for this degree. Which is why I’m getting better results than both of you,” he scoffed, waving his hand dismissively. He was just about to open his mouth again when his eyes landed on the door. Or, to be more precise, the person who walked through the door. His hand lingered in the air, falling just a bit, weak at the wrist as his eyes went just a tad bigger.

“That is-…” he murmured, frowning. “…vulgar.”

The man who decided to join the drunken crowd was wearing some tight black skinny jeans, low enough on his hips that his V line almost went down all the way and, most scandalous, a white t-shirt that was cropped short enough to barely cover his pecs. For some reason, Laurent found it to be worse than just being topless, but that was hardly the reason why he was speechless. The man stood taller than everyone around him and he was so-… massive, that his jeans were almost bursting at his thighs. And, for everyone to see, the most outrageous set of abs Laurent had ever had the misfortune to lay eyes upon.

“Damn, if that’s vulgar, sign me the fuck up,” laughed Jord, starting to wave his hand in front of Laurent’s eyes. “Don’t we draw naked men like, every Thursday? Or are you that deprived?”

Laurent slapped his hand away and glared, making sure to turn his back at the door and, consequently, at the man. “You mean the wrinkly raisins that keep dying off every month?”

“Don’t be mean,” said Vannes, sipping from her cocktail. “Though I would like to draw a lady every once in a while. Those small, drooping butts are haunting my nightmares.” She paused, craning her neck to look over Laurent. “Though I can’t say his ass is too bad.”

“If you’re checking out that abomination of a brute, you’re clearly the one that’s deprived. Go find yourself a girlfriend,” he sighed, downing his drink and getting up to acquire another one. He carefully manoeuvred through the crowd, snarling at anyone who dared get too close or try to engage in some weird courtship with him. He made it to the bar safely and without biting any hands off, which was a success. He leaned against it, letting out a tired groan. His friends kept promising this would be the best experience of his life but he was even more convinced he preferred silent cafés and book stores.

Laurent attempted to make eye contact with the bartender, but the guy was too busy trying to provide change to all the other customers. Just as he successfully got the man’s attention, a large mountain of a body cut his visual contact and he was met with a toned torso akin to a bronze statue. He barely dared to look up.

“This place is insane,” laughed the man as he put away his phone. His smile was ridiculously white, behind full lips and supported by a jaw Laurent feared he would cut himself on. “They should turn down the music, I can barely hear myself think.”

“You’re probably right. You were clearly not thinking when you started talking to me,” he snapped, waving his hand again, trying to get the bartender's attention back to himself.

“Rough night?” asked the brute, leaning lower and breathing hard, clearly having just escaped from the dance floor. There were small, curly hairs clinging to his face and a drop of sweat slowly sliding down his neck. “Maybe a drink’s gonna help,” he added. Laurent wondered just how much the universe had it in for him tonight. “Nik,” he uttered and the bartender turned to him, raising an eyebrow. “A Pomegranate,” he said simply and the man nodded, starting to prepare the drink immediately.

“Pomegranate?” asked Laurent, cocking an eyebrow sceptically.

“It’s a Martini. You seem like a Martini type of guy,” explained the stranger, smiling in the most oblivious way.

“I've never had a Martini in my entire life.”

“Oh.”

They just stared at each other for a few seconds, icy blue eyes fixed on the kind, honey gaze of the other man.

He sighed, resigned. “Can you only afford half a T-shirt?”

All he received was a crystal clear laugh, no hurt behind it. “When you put it that way-… I can always take it off,” he said with a wink. Laurent glared, not at the man but at his torso, eyes following the dark trail of hair getting lost in his trousers.

The drink arrived and it was indeed a Martini but red with pomegranate seeds floating through it like rubies. He looked at it for a bit and sipped carefully.

“Well?”

“Adequate.” He set down the glass and looked at him again. “You’re not wearing underwear,” he stated calmly.

“I’m wearing jeans, why would I need underwear?” he asked and Laurent couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

“You look like a whore, that’s why.”

The dark haired man frowned, more confused than angry. Laurent felt a titbit of satisfaction.  “Why are you in the biggest gay club in this city if you’re so conservative about everything?”

Laurent shrugged and took another sip. The drink was good and it provided the right distraction from those god forsaken abs. “I'm not here out of choice. My friends seem to think this is an appropriate way to spend their free time and wanted to prove it to me.”

“Well, you got a free drink out of it. Can’t be that bad.”

“I can afford my own drinks,” he spat back, more annoyed than before. What was getting to him the most was how he tried his best to get this guy to fuck off or at least get him angry and yet he just kept trying to make light hearted small talk.

“You could just say thank you.”

He downed the drink immediately, almost choking on the small pomegranate seeds and sliding the glass across the counter. “I can afford my own drinks, _thank you,”_ he replied in a mocking voice. Then, he walked away, but not without glancing at the guy’s body again, still baffled about how some people were not fazed about being covered in so much sweat.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't help it and posted the second part today. I was going to wait a bit but here we are...  
> There's more of this fic written but it's a mess and I haven't put it together yet so you will have to wait a bit for other chapters. Enjoy ~

 

**II**

 

 

The next weekend, his luck was running out. He tried several strategies of getting out of this terrible endeavour but he just gave up when Jord showed up at his door. This time, Vannes nagged him for hours before they left on what he should wear and he settled on a black tank top and a black leather jacket to go with it. He felt slightly uncomfortable as he wasn't used to anything too revealing. He liked turtlenecks and trench coats and would always add the extra layer if possible. Tank tops were something he only wore under a jumper on cold days.

This time, they were there on a Sunday. The club was a bit emptier, but just as lively, and they picked the same table as before. Not two minutes after they arrived, Laurent’s regret of agreeing to come skyrocketed.

“Five shots for the price of three,” he heard and he didn't even bother to look up. His eyes were on the same level with the crotch of someone wearing a pair of tight, black leather trousers. And nothing else. The gigantic pair of abs were so close to his face that he could see every single drop of sweat and grain of glitter clinging to the dark, smooth skin. Alarmingly, he could sense a whiff of perfume with a note of sandalwood to it, but not strong enough for him to smell anything else in it. The fact that someone took the time to spritz perfume on their crotch was simply ridiculous to him.

“We’ll take five,” said Vannes, pulling out her wallet and slipping a few notes in the waistband of the man’s trousers. Laurent kept his gaze low, trying to concentrate on the man’s knees but eventually gave in and slipped his hand in the pocket of his jacket.

“We’ll take ten,” he said quickly, handing the man another note and cursing himself. He looked up and made eye contact with him. “I didn't know you work here.”

“I only work on weekends,” he explained with a smile, tilting his head just a bit, making his curls flop over the side of his face. They looked so impossibly soft and silky, in spite of the moisture in the club and the sweat covering the man's skin. Laurent's own hair would always curl in strange ways and get frizzy and stick to his skin everywhere, which was quite unflattering in his opinion.

The man's biceps flexed in a way that made Laurent’s heart jump when he started moving the shots from the tray to their table. But he did not break eye contact. Not one second.

“And you come back to your workplace on weekdays? How dull,” he mused, not showing any expression on his face.

“Oh, you know each other?” inquired Jord, giving Laurent a sly, suspicious smirk. “I haven’t had the pleasure, then. Jord,” he said, extending a hand at the man.

“Damen,” he replied, shaking it awkwardly, still looking at Laurent. His gaze was so innocent and Laurent just wanted to smack him. No, kick him. In the face. Yes, with his boots on,  _of course_. 

“We _don’t_ know each other,” snapped Laurent, watching both of them with a murderous look. “You don’t even know my name-…” he tried to argue, but Jord spoke over him.

“Laurent. Such a ponce name, if you ask me.” He grinned, finally letting go of the man’s hand. Damen’s hand. He repeated it a few times in his head, trying to keep the same expression on his face as before. Damen, the topless shot boy that bought him a drink. Damen, the biggest jerk he’s seen in his entire life. Literally. Laurent mused that it should be illegal for people to grow this big. There should be a height and brawn limit for everyone. 

“And the lipstick lesbian trying to get me drunk is Vannes,” he murmured in a gloomy voice, sipping from his straw. All he wanted to do was finish his cocktail and down every single shot on that table.

“Lovely to meet you all,” said Damen, setting another shot on the table. “This one’s on the house. Enjoy.” With that, Damen walked away and Laurent had to use every ounce of will power not to stare at his leather clad ass. He had no idea why this was so important, considering both Vannes and Jord were shamelessly oogling him.

“Do you have to be such an arsehole every time a hot guy comes your way?” asked Vannes, leaning back in her chair and nudging Laurent.

“He’s clearly a jerk but he’s still hot,” added Jord with a shrug. “He’s gigantic though. He’d probably break you in two.”

“Will you two just fucking stop?” He drank his first shot, grimacing and grabbing the next one. “You can maybe persuade me to be here but only because I choose to. Don’t think I’ll endorse any other aspect of this ludicrous lifestyle.” He downed the next shot, staring only at his glass.

“There he goes again…” sighed Vannes, shaking her head.

 

~~

 

It was 2 AM when Vannes and Jord left and Damen had watched them subtly as they tried to drag Laurent away from the table. The blond just pushed them away and ended up heading for the bar where he sat alone for another hour forcing Nikandros to serve him endless shots until Damen built up the courage to do something about it. He ended up asking Nik to find someone to cover for him and grabbing his jacket quickly from the dressing room before heading straight for the bar. He could only pray he wouldn't get his head bitten off. 

“C’mon, you've had enough,” he murmured as gently as he could over the loud music, carefully placing a hand on Laurent's shoulder. He was shivering ever so slightly. 

“Fuck off.” Laurent downed another shot and slammed the glass down, his blond hair almost completely free from the braid he wore that night, falling around his face like a mess. His lips were plump and red and blond strands stuck to them awkwardly. 

“Get this twink out of here before he makes a scene,” said Nik from behind the bar, mixing some cocktails and not looking at them.

Damen sighed. It wasn't meant to be any of his business. He wasn't meant to care or get involved. He worked there and he’d seen plenty of people getting drunk, being thrown out and crawling all the way home covered in vomit. He was supposed to be used to it.

“These guys are gonna kick your ass out of here if you don’t let me take you home,” he said, this time wrapping an arm around Laurent’s torso and dragging him to his feet. Unsurprisingly, Laurent slumped against him, eyes half closed, unable to physically protest. “C’mere.”

He put Laurent’s arm over his own shoulders and started moving him away from the bar but the shorter man’s legs just dragged over the floor like a puppet’s. This wasn't going to work. Not like this. He pressed his lips together and, hesitantly, slipped an arm behind Laurent’s knees and lifted him up. He was light as a feather.

Laurent muttered something that sounded like a ‘no’ but he still clung to Damen, head resting idly against his chest. “It’s okay, just tell me where you live.”

At first, there was nothing but a silent moan of frustration. Then, the blond spoke. “Rue Lemercier-… apartment 5,” he said, voice muffled by his hair and Damen’s skin, where it was half pressed as if the man was trying to hide his face from the light and the movement around them. His lips felt warm but his cheek was stone cold. Damen was still holding his jacket and decided to carefully wrap it around Laurent rather than wear it himself.

He walked out of the venue as fast as he could and once they were outside, the cold hit him. He started walking, arms clenching tighter around Laurent. Damen could vaguely remember the way to Rue Lemercier and decided he would find the building when they got there. People were still on the streets, walking home or to different clubs, drunken friends supporting each other and laughing. Some girls whistled at him and he remembered he was still topless and covered in glitter.

He was distracted by everything around him until a small sound came from the mess in his arms. The arm Laurent had around his neck moved, his hand sliding clumsily over Damen’s shoulder and down to his upper arm, settling there on the widest, firmest part of it. “…Mmm-…” he hummed, nuzzling closer. “I hate your-… arms and your-….” He muttered, his fingers digging lightly into Damen’s skin, but he didn't finish his sentence. “Fuck-…”

Damen kept walking, steps just as big, but he was now looking down at Laurent rather than the road. His face was still covered by hair and his lips were parted slightly. “Why?” he asked, not sure what he was aiming to find out. Conversation sounded like a good thing at this point. As long as it kept Laurent conscious.

“… _fucking ridiculous_ ,” he grumbled, squeezing a bit harder before softening his grip. “You just-… walk around like that.” His voice was drowsy and every syllable shook like it was the hardest thing to get it out. “And I just-… have to _sit there_ and look at you…”

Damen frowned and hastened his pace, turning left on a narrow street. “What’s wrong with that? What else would you want to do?” he asked and regretted it immediately.

“ _Everything’s_ wrong with that,” complained Laurent, burying his face even more in Damen’s chest, lips pressed tightly against the higher part of his pectoral. “I can’t even drink in peace, I-… I just keep thinking about it-…”

He noted that the tone of their conversation was getting quite heavy and cleared his throat. He wanted to say something sensible, something that wouldn't make his leather trousers suddenly feel even tighter or make the sharp, icy wind suddenly feel like a warm breeze. “Well-…” he began, unsure of how to continue. “…What do you keep thinking about?”

“You-… just-…” he exhaled, his hand moving up to Damen's shoulder again, very slowly. “Touching you.” His fingers brushed over his skin and went down on his chest, innocently sweeping over his nipple which was still stiff from the cold.

Damen bit his lower lip and looked up, trying to focus on crossing the road safely. The further he walked from the centre, the emptier it was.

Suddenly, the lips pressed against his chest moved, altering the pressure, lighter and then firmer. Laurent’s mouth opened and closed over his skin and Damen realised they were just very clumsy, subtle kisses, as if the blond was trying to feel his body only with the touch of his lips. Glitter was starting to stick to them. “There’s like, a mile to my house… you’re just fucking carrying me-… _fuck._ ”

Laurent’s face pressed harder against him and he was clinging to Damen so tightly it hurt. “You’re light,” noted Damen, trying to keep his voice levelled. He was thankful the street he turned on was completely empty and no one could tell he had a clear hard on. At least there was no way for Laurent to tell either. 

“No, you’re just fucking ridiculous, you gigantic-… _brute_...” he began complaining, but stopped, turning his face away and pressing the side of his head against Damen, looking up at him with lazy eyes and red cheeks. “Your heartbeat’s really fast.”

He couldn't help but stare back. In contrast, his eyes were wide and slightly alarmed and he probably looked like a deer in headlights, curls mussed by the wind and all. He opened his mouth to speak but closed it as soon as Laurent turned to look at where they were.

“There,” he said, trying to gesture with his head but suddenly looking terribly dizzy and hiding his face again with a moan. “I'm gonna be sick,” he stated, clutching at him again.

“ _No, no, no_ ,” he whispered, crossing the street quickly and trying not to swing Laurent too much in his hold. It was a very fancy old building in classic architecture that seemed to have several flats inside. He buzzed.

“ _Back already?”_ answered a young voice.

“I'm Laurent’s friend, I brought him home,” he replied. There was just silence for a while and he was prepared to speak again when the door suddenly unlocked with a clink. Damen struggled to open it, almost running up the stairs to the door that had the number five on it. He knocked with his foot. It opened immediately.

He was met with the sight of a very young teenager, almost like a smaller, frailer version of Laurent, with dark hair but the same hostile eyes and sharp features. “I have a special delivery for you.”

The boy was holding a fork, covered in what seemed to be chocolate and gave him a questioning, sceptical look. “You’re not staying,” he uttered sharply, pointing the fork at Damen’s crotch. Leather trousers were clearly a terrible choice for a night like that. Or, well, for being around a person like Laurent. He wondered how someone could be both so venomous and so sweet. It was impressive. Just as impressive as the fact that Damen couldn't really remember ever getting a hard on just from someone talking to him, never mind from a guy so drunk he had to be carried home bridal style. 

The teenager's statement seemed awfully final. “I wasn't planning to.” Laurent let out a small whimper but didn't move. “Where can I drop this?” he asked, looking briefly at the man in his arms.

The boy gestured towards the back of the flat and turned to let him in. It was the first time Damen had seen someone holding a fork so threateningly, he mused. He was lead to a door and he went in, realising this was probably Laurent’s bedroom. It was both everything he expected and nothing.

The bed was large and looked extremely comfortable, but everything around it was very clean, almost clinical. However, the other side of the room was the opposite. There was a mess of paints, papers, brushes, small bottles and other tools left around a wooden easel supporting a large, rectangular canvas. He couldn't see what was painted on it in the darkness of the room. He could only make out two dark figures but no details. Suddenly, he found himself very curious about how talented Laurent was. He figured they were attending the same Academy, only Damen studied in a different building than the people from Fine Arts. 

He turned away from the canvas, placed Laurent on the bed horizontally and started removing his shoes. Damen heard the door close behind him. They were alone.

Laurent was lying on the bed exactly the way he was left there, not moving, his eyes closed, but there were small sounds coming from his throat whenever Damen moved him too much. He looked around and grabbed a pair of shorts and a soft, grey T-shirt left on a chair. For some reason, Damen felt the urge to bring them up and bury his face into them but realised immediately how weird that would be. “I'm going to change your clothes,” he said. There was no reply. Hesitantly, he pulled down on Laurent’s trousers and then removed his tank top. He wasn't supposed to be surprised that the rest of Laurent was the same as his arms and his face: small and soft and so incredibly elegant, despite the fact that the man was a dishevelled mess of limbs and hair going everywhere.

Damen got him dressed as fast as he could. Then, he tried to lift him up and place him under the covers but Laurent was having none of it, his slender fingers tangling into Damen’s thick curls and not letting go. “Please stay.”

“You’re drunk,” he stated, brushing a long strand of hair away from the man’s face. Laurent blinked slowly at him, his eyes closing again.

“Please, just-… You can’t just-…” he protested. “…-carry me like that and be all naked and just leave…”

Damen sighed, and brushed the back of his hand gently over Laurent’s cheek. It wasn't cold anymore and his lips were red and chapped but still looked so astoundingly soft. He allowed himself to be pulled closer and he pressed a light kiss on the corner of his mouth. Laurent almost whimpered. His lips lingered there for a bit and only moved against Laurent's mouth as he spoke. “You’re drunk,” he repeated, running his fingers through the tangled, long hair as slowly as he could. Laurent smelled of alcohol and cigarette smoke but his hair smelled of raspberries.

He brought up a hand and grabbed the one Laurent had in his hair, carefully untangling it. Laurent moaned in disappointment and tried to wrap one of his legs around Damen’s waist but he pulled away more. “You’re very drunk,” he pressed, standing up straight and grabbing his jacket from the floor. He turned away, trying to ignore the irritated meowls coming from the bed and left the room as fast as he could.

On the way out, the kid did not even acknowledge him. Damen was just about to walk out the door when he turned back and stared at him, hesitating. He stared right back at Damen and cocked an eyebrow. "Do you not know how to use a door? I can show you."

He sighed and made a few steps towards him, noticing that the alarmed look on the teenagers face as he approached. "I just wanna make sure he's okay. Could you maybe send me a text if I leave you my number?"

"Oh, my," he chuckled in response.. "You got him in bed and he doesn't even have your number?" He seemed terribly amused by this entire deal but he did eventually grab his phone, unlocked it and then handed it to Damen. He typed in his number then handed the phone back to the kid and walked out. 

 It was three hours later when he realised he forgot to write down his name. 

 


	3. Chapter 3

 

**III**

 

 

“ _So…_ ”

“So?”

He raised an eyebrow at Nicaise, his hands busy assembling a terrible sandwich. Laurent knew he looked like shit and the last thing he felt like doing was talking about the previous night. Which he barely remembered anyway.

“You’ve got a boyfriend,” pointed out the boy, curling up in an armchair and watching Laurent like a hawk. “Isn’t he a tad large for you? What do you need all that for? Though I suppose he’s useful for when you drink yourself half to death.”

“He’s _not_ my boyfriend, I barely know him. Watch your tongue,” he snapped, putting down the last piece of wholemeal bread. He hated white bread. 

Nicaise just laughed. “You were clinging to him like a cat in heat and moaning and begging for him to bed you. That’s a bit too intimate for an acquaintance.”

Laurent went white and turned to Nicaise, fixing him with a glare. “I was _not,_ " he shrieked.

Nicaise smirked, opening a vanilla yoghurt. “You don’t sound so sure of that though. You got him naked before he even got to the door, I'm impressed.”

“This is entirely inappropriate, you’re a child.” Laurent turned away again, starting to wrap his failed sandwich as fast as he could.

“And you’re supposed to take care of me. Instead, you go out and get pissed and bring gigantic, naked men home.”

Laurent sighed. He was indeed meant to take care of Nicaise. His cousin was what he would have described as a troubled child and it took a lot of convincing on his part for his uncle to let him move in with Laurent. But he was merely a student with no experience in caring for teenagers, especially teenagers as complicated as Nicaise. Never mind that his own life was a disaster on so many levels.

“Don’t worry, I won’t see him again. Which means you won’t either,” he stated, shoving his sandwich in his bag and starting to look around frantically. “Where’s my phone?”

Nicaise shoved his hand in his pocket and threw it towards Laurent who barely caught it. “He gave me his number. You can call him yourself and tell him how much you enjoyed last night.”

Laurent scoffed, throwing the phone in his bag and walking towards the door, trying to find the willpower to not yell at Nicaise. It wasn't the first time his cousin was driving him so close to snapping. “Do your homework,” he muttered, slamming the door behind him as he left.

Mondays were quiet days. He only had History and Theory of Art to attend, late in the afternoon and he usually went to work in an empty studio or spent time browsing bookshops. His head felt too fuzzy for him to even consider working, especially this early. He had showered persistently all morning, trying to scrub off every single remnant of the previous night. He had brushed his teeth about four times and wore the most comfortable clothes he could find. He needed fresh air, coffee and a lot of cigarettes before he could even hope to feel like a functional human being again.

In his first weeks at the Academy, Vannes and Jord seemed to only care about clubs and which shops had the best deals on alcohol. Thankfully, he was soon acquainted to other students who seemed a bit more sensible. At some point, was approached by Erasmus, a drama student who seemed to want to collaborate with someone from Fine Arts on a project. Laurent, naturally, denied his proposition but they ended up going outside for a smoke together. Erasmus apparently worked part time in a bookshop café and Laurent was genuinely delighted by learning of its existence. He frequented places like that quite a lot while in Paris but in Acquitart, he felt like a cat slowly trying to conquer its new territory. He had no idea where he was most of the time and the prospect of exploring felt terrifying on most days. Which was probably why it had been weeks since he had learned about the existence of Akielos Café and this was the first time he actually considered going there.

The walk wasn't too long. In fact, it was shorter than it would take him to walk to the Academy or to the club and it was quite pleasant, with the gentle October sun making his golden hair shine and all the leaves glitter whenever he was squinting his eyes to see the road better. It was a bit chilly but he had a think jumper on and an oversized scarf draped around his shoulders, his skinny jeans tucked inside his boots meticulously. Even when he attempted to look comfortable and effortless, there was a lot of care involved in the process.

He realised he was going to be there quite soon and suddenly remembered what Nicaise had told him. Laurent started digging through his bag, pulling out his phone and starting to browse his contacts. There was a new number saved simply under “Abs” and he groaned, quickly dialling it. His hand was shaking.

_“…Yeah?”_

“Why is your number in my phone?” he asked, voice perfectly cold and balanced.

“ _Oh! This is Laurent, right? I asked your little brother to save my number. Wanted to make sure you’d be-…”_

“He’s not my brother, he’s my cousin.” Damen sounded annoyingly casual to him.

“ _Uh-… Sorry. Yeah. So, are you alright?”_

There were lots of sounds and voices and Laurent could swear he could hear music in the background, but faintly. “I am perfectly fine. Is that all?”

“ _Well, yeah-… I mean, I just wanted to-…”_

Laurent hung up.

He was already on the large boulevard where he knew he would find the café. He didn't care much about talking to people when all he wanted was a good book and some coffee. When he reached the entrance, he read the large, weird font above it and noted that not many people were inside. It seemed like a quite expensive place and most customers only came in if they were actually planning to spend the whole day inside, reading, rather than spend so much money for coffee they could've gotten at Starbucks for half the price.

Laurent walked in, with his nose in the air and eyes unfocused, trying to ignore everyone and be ignored. But some things were impossible to overlook. Like the unmistakeable size of the guy behind the counter, who was staring right at him and smirking. He stopped in his tracks, frowning accusingly. “Are you stalking me?” he asked, pursing his lips. At least Damen wasn't wearing a crop top or _nothing_ , so Laurent could look at him while still breathing naturally. Well, almost. His black apron was still clinging to his thick waist and the sleeves of his small black T-shirt were ready to burst at the seams around his arms. But overall, it was better. No abs to be seen.

“I _work_ here,” said Damen, laughing. “You’re the one doing the stalking.” He did not seem too upset. Laurent hung up in his face. Laurent _wanted_ him to be upset and yet Damen never was. What a fucking waste of time.

“I just wanted some coffee! Didn't you work in a gay club? How many jobs do you have?” he shrieked, fumbling with his bag to try and get out his wallet. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. Finally, his shaky fingers managed to obtain some coins and he let them drop on the counter, eyes intentionally occupied with anything other than Damen.

“Don’t worry, it’s free,” said Damen, chuckling. “I work in the club on weekends, I needed the extra money. But I work here during the week,” he explained, pushing the coins towards Laurent. “What do you want?”

“Black coffee. Lots of sugar,” he replied, finally raising his gaze to meet Damen’s. “How do you go from being naked in a gay club to making coffee in a bookshop? Isn't that a bit contradictory?”

Damen turned around and started preparing it. “People can do both. Have you never had two jobs?”

Laurent blushed and started gathering the coins, dropping them in the bowl of tips. “I've never had a job.” Indeed, his entire life he’d been a kept child. He could remember wanting a job as a kid, when he still thought they sounded fun. He still wanted one today, only to be independent if anything, but he knew it was smarter to focus on his studies and leech off his uncle for as long as he could.

His face got redder, this time with anger, when Damen continued laughing at him. His curls shook with every chuckle, bouncing around his face in a way that should have been illegal. “Wow, your parents must be loaded with that nice flat they rented you,” he commented, placing the coffee on a tray and grabbing it with one hand. “Where do you wanna sit?”

Laurent did not comment on the first statement. He wasn’t in the mood to talk about his family, at least not before he would have his first cup of coffee. “Outside,” he said, turning around and walking to the door.

“Perfect,” said Damen, following him. He placed the tray on a small, circular table and sat down. “I’m having a smoke break so I can join you.”

Laurent pressed his lips together and sat in the other free chair. He noticed that the coffee was decorated with the design of an intricate flower. He had seen plenty of coffee shops doing this but had no idea a person like Damen would bother with it. Especially for a free coffee.

He pulled out a pack of Marlboro Gold and before he could even look through his bag some more, Damen had already extended a large, metallic lighter close to his face. The flame was burning right in front of him and Damen had a cigarette between his own lips, still unlit. Laurent gave in and they both leaned closer at the same time, lighting them simultaneously.

“How’s your head?”

“It’s fine,” he said quietly, puffing his cigarette a bit. It tasted terrible and he grabbed the cup, taking a careful sip so he wouldn't burn his lips.

“Do you remember anything?” Damen was watching him, casually, not staring for too long. Smoke left his lips as he spoke. Laurent noticed his lips were very full and well structured.

He did not answer for a while until he realised _he_ was the one staring. “Not really,” he murmured, averting his gaze and looking at the cobbled sidewalk. Laurent’s breathing got a bit slower. He would never admit how desperately he wanted to know what had happened, what he had done and what Damen had done. But he also didn’t want to know. He was wearing different clothes when he woke up and he smelled a different perfume on his skin in the morning. It made him feel sick.

“You got really drunk.”

He snorted coldly. “You don’t say.”

“I carried you home. I hope that’s alright, you gave me your address.” Now, they were staring at each other. Every thought Laurent might have had of reading and relaxing was now gone, replaced with the intensity in his gaze and the way his fingers were almost crushing the cigarette.

“What else?” he asked, his voice tense with so many questions. So many worries. Damen’s eyes were so warm on him and he wanted to put out his cigarette right between them.

“Well-…” started Damen, blinking slowly. “You were just-… very drunk. You asked me to stay, more than once.”

Laurent closed his eyes and continued smoking, so fast that he burned through the entire thing almost immediately. “Did you stay?”

“No.”

He exhaled. He took out another cigarette and Damen’s lighter was once again lit before him. His hand was so large. “Why not?”

“You were drunk,” he said again, leaning back in his chair. A light breeze started. Laurent kept forgetting they were so close to the beach. “I wouldn't take advantage of someone like that.”

“Isn't that the point of working in a gay club? All those drunk guys hitting on you,” he mused, taking another sip. The coffee had such a full flavour but Laurent could barely taste it. He could, however, feel himself relaxing a bit. He wondered if Damen could see the sudden waves of emotions that were assaulting him and he hoped not. At least not with how hard he tried to hide them.

“Actually, they prefer to hire straight guys. Less likely to get drunk and get distracted by customers,” he said with a shrug.

“Oh.”

Laurent only stared at him for a few seconds, then looked at the street. He wasn't sure why he was feeling disappointed. He wasn't sure why this wasn't a relief. Damen had bought him a drink. Damen had given him two free drinks already. Damen had carried him home and made sure he was safe in bed and feeling alright the next day. And it wasn't because he wanted to fuck him. He was just a genuinely pleasant person who wanted to make friends with him. It should have been a good thing. It should have.

“So, what do you study?” asked Damen, breaking the awkward silence that Laurent was so keen on fuelling.

“Fine Arts. It’s my first year,” he replied, lifting the cup to his face and finally taking in the smell. It was slightly helping his mood. “Do you study anything?”

Damen shook his head. “I finished drama last year. Now I'm still working in the theatre but technically I have my degree.” He shrugged. “I’ll probably be here for the next ten years, hoping for a career.” There was a hint of amusement in his voice but he also seemed tired and resigned. Laurent wasn't surprised. Most people who got a degree like this seemed to not have much of a plan afterwards. “Where are you from, anyway? And why is your cousin living with you?”

“His step-dad is a wanker. I'm his best shot at a parental figure right now, I guess.” He sighed. “I'm from Paris. What about you?”

“Can’t your parents take him in?” he asked, oblivious. He lit another cigarette for himself. Laurent noted that the break was a lot longer than was probably acceptable but did not comment. “I'm from Greece. But, well, I'm not Greek per se. I'm mostly Moroccan. My parents met in Malta and moved to Athens.”

“My parents are dead,” he answered casually, sipping his drink as slowly as he could. “Do you speak Greek then?” He was genuinely curious. He could only speak English other than French and he wasn’t particularly good at it. Damen’s French, however, was really good. And his accent was nothing other than charming. Which, in Laurent’s perspective, made it annoying.

“Oh.” Damen’s eyes were large with worry for a bit but he soon noticed Laurent was not offended. “I'm sorry. I didn't know.” Laurent nodded at him. “But-…yeah. I speak Greek. And Darija Arabic. I've been trying to learn some Italian but I'm not very fluent right now.”

“Wow.” His eyebrows were raised in pure surprise. Laurent suddenly felt a bit inadequate. “I only speak French. I wish I knew that many languages, though I'm not sure what I would use them for.”

“Your French is amazing, though. I don’t mean because you’re from Paris, I mean-… The way you speak is beautiful. I mean-…” Damen paused, awkwardly. He was blushing and Laurent wondered if it was because Damen knew he was gay and didn't want to enable him. “It’s the kind of stuff you notice when you study what I did. Good speech if very important,” he finally mumbled, wetting his lips in embarrassment.

“I understand,” he said quickly to stop that complete train wreck of a topic. “Thank you.” He was almost done with his coffee.

“By the way… I saw a canvas in your room but I never turned on the lights. Mind if I ask what you were painting?”

He emptied the cup, looking at Damen curiously. The interest in his art felt strange. Most people didn't ask or care. “Just a very classical piece, I'm trying to depict a scene from Greek Mythology. It’s going slowly though, I don’t have a model just yet.”

“Ah.” Damen got up, grabbing the empty cup and the used ashtray. “Do you want another cup? We can go inside if it’s cold.”

“N’ah,” said Laurent, getting up too and awkwardly staring at Damen. “I should probably go. I have to study. But thank you for the coffee.”

“My pleasure.”

Laurent didn’t have to study. Neither did he have to stare at Damen’s ass until the man disappeared inside, but there was no one around to judge him. Before he could turn around and leave, he heard the doors open again and heard Damen calling out for him. 

"Do you wanna hire a model?" asked Damen, awkwardly shoving his hands in his pockets. His jeans crumpled tightly around his hips and groin but thankfully, the apron was there to protect Laurent's eyes and mind. 

"I'm willing to pay, yes."

"I've done it before. You don't have to pay me much. Just call me if you're interested."

They just stared at each other for a bit until Laurent finally nodded. "I will consider it." Then, he turned around and left.

That day, he changed the name in his phone from ‘Abs’ to ‘Damen from Akielos’. He didn't know any other Damens but this made it feel more impersonal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea how many people are still interested in this but I'm still writing it~


	4. Chapter 4

**IV - 1**

 

 

“You don’t even like drinking,” pointed out the woman while dipping a sponge in some gesso. Vannes had abandoned her heels and make up for a pair of dirty denim dungarees and a red bandana wrapped around her head, keeping her short hair out of the way. “We thought you were gonna sulk around for a bit and then go home.”

Laurent shrugged. He didn't know why he drank that much, there was no excuse or reasoning behind it other than _he had to_. It somehow had to do with Damen existing. But it wasn't an explanation he could voice out loud. “I bumped into him again, you know,” he mentioned casually. His index finger flicked across his own canvas, checking if the first layer had dried. Satisfied, he grabbed the gesso tube again and squirted a bit more into a plastic container.

“Really?” She raised her eyebrows, starting to spread the primer carefully. She was pursing her lips in concentration but still spoke. “Wasn't he scared of you being all drunk and clingy?”

“Fuck off,” he snarled, throwing a clean sponge at her head. It reached its target but it was too light for her to even notice. “He’s straight. I wish he would be scared, though, that would solve all of this.”

“What is there to solve, luv? He just walked you home.” She put the sponge aside and moved the canvas, leaving it on a table to dry. The air in the studio was always a bit cold and never humid, for which Laurent was thankful. He was never the kind of person to lose his wits over someone but thinking about Damen made him feel the need to hop into an ice-cold shower.

“ _Carried_ ,” he pointed out. “And as I said, we ran into each other again. Are you going to listen to this, or not?”

“Don’t get cheeky, of course I'm listening.”

Laurent sighed and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt, starting to prime his canvas. “I went to this café. He works here too, the bastard just shows up anywhere I go, I swear to god.” He paused for a bit, his tongue just slightly sticking out as he focused on spreading everything evenly. He was aware he looked ridiculous whenever he did this but could hardly ever help it. “Anyway, he got me free coffee and we had a chat. He wants to be my model.” Laurent got up and grabbed his canvas, placing it on the same large table next to the one Vannes left there. This was the final layer before he would start painting.

“Really?” She grinned, leaning against the edge of the table. There was a strange smell in the studio, a mix of chemicals and fresh autumn air from the outside. Vannes rubbed her nose. “Are you gonna share?”

“I'm not even sure I want him,” he said, shrugging and climbing on top of the table. He sat with his legs crossed and stretched his arms. It was barely noon and they were only preparing for some projects but the tranquillity in their studio made him drowsy. It was nice to have someone working alongside him, even though most of the time he preferred silence and peace to be able to concentrate. “Wouldn't it be a bit awkward? Plus, his body isn't very….standard.”

“That’s bullshit,” she said, giving him a knowing smile. “Pure, Laurent-style bullshit. You like painting ripped guys, that’s like, the only thing you draw all day.”

Laurent blushed and glared at her. “Studying the muscles of the human body is nothing to be ashamed of.”

“I didn't say it is. But if you like… _studying_ muscles, he’s a great opportunity.” She grabbed her bag and went through it, pulling out a can of soda and opening it. “Honestly, if you don’t want him, I’ll take him. But it would be such a waste.”

With another resentful sigh, Laurent pulled out his phone. He stared at it for a bit, debating in his head. It was only Tuesday. Surely, it would seem a bit desperate to call Damen just a day later. But it’s not like they went on a date, for fuck’s sake. This was business. He was just trying to hire the guy, nothing more, nothing less. “I'm going out for a smoke. See you in a bit,” he said absent-mindedly, pushing himself off the table and quickly walking out of the room.

He was already unlocking his phone while going down the stairs. By the time he went through the back door of the building and into the small yard outside, he was dialling Damen.

“ _Heyyy,”_ came the answer and Laurent cringed, almost shoving the cigarette between his lips and struggling to light it.

“Hey,” he finally said in a monotone voice. After a bit of silence, he leaned against the outside wall. “Are you free later today?”

“ _I finish work at two. I'm free after that,”_ replied Damen, sounding pleased. Laurent could hear the faint sound of music again and, suddenly, a blender. “ _Should I come to your place?”_

“No,” he said quickly. Nicaise was already a nightmare to deal with. “Do you know where the building with the free studio spaces is?”

“ _No, sorry. I know the main building though. I was on a different campus.”_ Well, that was of no use.

“I’ll come pick you up at two then,” he stated, hanging up immediately. Only now he noticed that his cigarette had burned halfway through by itself before extinguishing between his fingers and that his heart was beating painfully against his ribcage. Laurent took a deep breath, slumping a bit against the wall and lighting it again.

 

**IV - 2**

 

The next few hours were spent trying to look completely impassive in front of Vannes or anyone else that entered the studio, making sure he had everything he needed including his original draft of the painting and trying not to pace like an idiot. Eventually, Vannes convinced him to grab something to eat and Jord joined them in the cafeteria downstairs. At fifteen minutes to two, he almost ran out, to the amusement of his friends. Bloody traitors.

Laurent already knew the walk to the café was short. It wasn't a big city and it took him literally five minutes to get there, after which he was forced to wait outside out of pride. He was not going to let Damen know he arrived there early.

He was still wearing his studio clothes. Laurent wasn't particularly keen on walking around covered in paint and with a bandana similar to the one Vannes was wearing wrapped around his head so messily. He tried taking it off but it just left kinks in his hairline and there were strands sticking up in the most ridiculous ways so he resigned to putting it back on. He would just have to resort to his personality to intimidate people and that wasn't too hard.

It only took another five minutes of waiting before Damen came out, having finished early. He smiled at Laurent and Laurent didn't smile back, simply studying his face carefully. “There’s powdered sugar on your nose,” he pointed out. “And your right cheek.”

Damen tried to wipe it all away, only managing to get rid of some of it. Laurent extended a hand carefully and meticulously rubbed his thumb against Damen’s right cheek. “That was your left cheek, you idiot.”

He pulled away quickly, ignoring the way Damen was gazing at him and started walking away, feeling the presence of the other man catching up and then walking next to him. “Wow, I can actually tell you’re an artist,” he said, eyes still fixed on Laurent.

“Don’t let this fool you. It’s only out of necessity,” he pointed out, smoothing the surface of his dirty blouse with his hands. When he first started painting, he had a rag for his brushes and always wore an apron that he never got dirty. Now, he just used his clothes to wipe everything. Damen stood in contrast with the splotchy oversized clothes Laurent wore that had no other functionality but helping him work. He was still a bit dirty from a morning of making drinks and there was coffee under his nails and some powdered sugar landed on his black T-shirt, but he was wearing a pair of flattering tight jeans and a leather jacket that made him look intentionally ravished and fashionable. The worst part was that Laurent was convinced Damen has no such intentions when picking his clothes and was completely oblivious to how he looked.

“Do you know a guy called Erasmus?” he suddenly asked.

“Uhm-…” Damen frowned. “Yeah, I do. Why?”

“No reason. He told me about the café, he said he works there,” he explained with a shrug.

“He did, for a bit,” replied Damen, without explaining any further. “Oh, I've seen that building before. I just never went in,” said Damen as soon as they made a turn left.

“Yeah. I have a free studio on the first floor,” he explained, hands going behind his head to check on how tight his braid still was. He tightened it again but he could feel so many strands just poking out and grimaced. “How long are you okay with doing this?” he asked, not looking at Damen.

“I've done it for a whole day before. As long as I get breaks,” he replied with a shrug. “For how long do you plan to paint? And how much do you wanna pay me for it?”

He nodded. “I have no idea. About three hours and then we’ll see how it goes.” He paused, thinking. “Would 20 Euros per hour be okay?” he asked, finally meeting Damen’s gaze.

Damen laughed which made Laurent frown. “Of course it’s alright. That’s more than I make anywhere.”

They crossed the street and went inside the building. Laurent lead him up the stairs and into the studio that was now empty. Vannes had promised to leave so Damen could get naked in peace. Speaking of. “You do know you are meant to be nude, right?”

“Of course,” he replied and took of his T-shirt faster than Laurent’s brain could compute. There it was again, the same set of muscles, the slight dip at the waist, the small amount of fat that made the lowest part of Damen’s abdomen look so soft compared to the rest. The trail of hair and the protruding hips. Laurent closed his eyes.

“ _There is a changing room,”_ he pointed out, turning around and putting on his apron.

“I'm not changing into anything, though, I just have to be naked.” There was a jangle and then a loud clang and Laurent knew Damen’s belt was off and his jeans fell to the ground. He grabbed the can of soda Vannes left for him and reminded himself to thank her later as he took a large gulp from it.

“I will need you to stand in the centre of the room, half facing the windows,” he started, without turning around. “There is a red sheet in the cupboard, it might be best if you hold that up with one hand. To your chest, try and let it fall in front of your body and maybe wrap around one leg.”

Laurent could hear Damen moving around. He grabbed the new, primed canvas and placed it on an old easel, next to the canvas he had in his room on Sunday night. The painting wasn't too advanced but he wanted to start again, from scratch. The initial work served as extra guidance.

“Like this?”

He peeked from behind the canvas, only his eyes showing and took in deep breaths. Damen was almost in the right place, but not quite. He grabbed the wrong red sheet and his stance wasn't balanced enough to last. “Take a step back,” he instructed, trying not to focus on the way Damen’s thick thigh muscles flexed every time he moved or shifted his equilibrium from once leg to the other. “Just-…” he groaned and emerged from behind the canvas. Laurent’s eyes were fixed on Damen’s. They were not going to slide down. No.

“What are you painting, anyway? Who am I meant to be?” asked Damen, still smiling. Laurent was right in front of him when he placed the tips of his fingers on his chest, but only where the sheet covered it, giving Damen a light push backwards.

“Patroclus getting ready to put on Achilles’ armour,” he explained, still pushing Damen. Then, he attempted to grab his arm to move him a bit to the right. But he couldn't decide which is worst – grabbing anywhere where he might come in contact with muscles or grabbing his hand. He settled on the wrist and awkwardly tried to wrap his fingers around it, trying not to show any surprise on his face when he realised he couldn't fully circle its entire girth. It wasn't even that unexpected. He felt so small next to him and usually that prompted him to act out and regain his status above everyone else in the room. But he didn't feel the need to do it. Not next to Damen.

“I remember reading the Iliad when I was young but I don’t recall any details,” said Damen honestly, letting Laurent drag him around any way he wanted to. Laurent grabbed his other hand too and carefully untangled the sheet from Damen’s fingers. Then, he removed it completely, trying to ignore the sudden nakedness.

“It’s an interesting story. You should be able to find it in that fancy café of yours,” he murmured, taking the right sheet from the cupboard and walking back to Damen. This time, he couldn't help but look, just for a second, before almost throwing it over him. “Hold it higher than before. Actually, hold it up to your shoulder and let it drape down your back a bit too.”

“I’ll look for it when I go back,” he said with a nod, then listened to all of Laurent’s instructions. “Your wish is my command,” he snickered.

Laurent just rolled his eyes. “Can you just keep your legs apart a bit more? You’re gonna get a cramp or lose your balance-… Yeah, like that.” He always assumed Damen didn't only have dark skin but was also a tanned, self-absorbed little shit. But he was wrong. There were no tan lines and every single part of Damen’s body had the same hue everywhere, the same golden shine adorning every inch of his skin. Laurent couldn't help but wonder what he looked like with an actual tan on. “Alright, now turn your head a bit to the left. And balance yourself on your right leg. Good.”

Once it was all in place, Laurent retreated behind the canvas again. He took off his bandana and untied his braid which was getting way too messy to be practical at that point. With the same elastic band, he pulled all of his hair in a loose bun and didn't bother with the bandana any more, letting the few wild baby hairs around his face stick up. When he went to grab the charcoal, he noticed Damen had been watching him.

Laurent started sketching the first lines. His eyes were trying to take in the entirety of Damen’s shape without focusing on anything in particular but he found it hard. It was only about half an hour into their session that his eyes got a little more used to skimming over the other man’s body without making his heart race or his hands tremble. Now, instead of losing his focus over how well defined some muscles were or how thick some parts of Damen were, he started noticing other small things. The way the autumn sun hit the skin and made it shine in a manner that was almost otherworldly. The perfect balance of Damen’s facial features, the sharpness of his jaw and the softness of his lips and the warmth of his half closed eyes. His eyelashes were thick and heavy, the same dark shade as the rest of the hair on Damen’s body. His hands might have been large but his fingers were long and exquisite, bearing subtle callouses but clean and beautiful nails. Laurent always thought he had nice hands but his own fingers seemed like a child’s compared to the unearthly proportions of the man in front of him.

“How much time has it been? I’ll need a break after an hour,” said Damen, trying not to move anything but his mouth. Every time he would inhale, his large chest would rise and Laurent caught himself watching the motions intensely a few times.

“Just a few more minutes. Are you alright?” asked Laurent, his hands still working on the painstakingly detailed sketch of every angle and curve on Damen’s body. He already finished drawing all the lines and crumples in the sheet. Damen had very large feet.

“I'm fine, but if I don’t take a break, I won’t be,” he said with a gentle smile, watching Laurent from the corner of his eye. “I liked your bandana.”

He raised an eyebrow, smiling back. His throat felt dry. “I'm not surprised. Your fashion sense is abominable.” Laurent started adding other details to the sketch, like the helmet on the ground next to Patroclus and cypress trees in the background. It was all starting to come together, better than the original painting. He decided to remove Achilles from the composition this time.

“It makes sense that you would prefer me naked, then,” he joked but Laurent just hid himself behind the canvas again, his jaw going rigid. Damen was obviously joking. He even smirked while saying it. It made sense.

“I prefer you silent, like all my models,” he grumbled. “You can move now,” he added, emerging from behind the canvas and grabbing a pack of wet wipes to clean the charcoal from his hands. Before he could say anything else, Damen had dropped the sheet and moved closer to Laurent, leaning against a table. Laurent froze holding a tissue but not quite wiping his hands.

“You alright?”

He snapped back to reality. Thankfully, he didn't let his eyes drop to Damen’s crotch, at least never for longer than a second. For the first time, one aspect about Damen’s body didn't shock him. What else was he to expect, anyway? It was already a repeating motif. Damen was big. In all possible ways.

“I'm fine. You can get dressed, you know,” he murmured, finally cleaning his hands and taking another sip from his soda. It was beginning to go flat. “I don’t think I can work any more, not today,” he added. Staring at Damen for an hour was positively exhausting. He realised he craved a drink and this was probably the reason he got drunk on Sunday in the first place.

Laurent started packing his stuff and he was just putting lids on the oil paint leftovers from a previous project when he saw Damen moving towards him. “I bet it’s really good,” he said, attempting to go around the canvas and take a look. Without thinking, Laurent grabbed the first dirty brush on the table and shoved it threateningly at Damen, like a sword, leaving a bright orange mark on his chest.

“ _Not until it’s done_ ,” he screeched, looking slightly terrified. The expression on Damen’s face changed from utter confusion to the most mischievous grin Laurent had seen in his entire life. Before he even had the chance to react, Damen dipped his fingers in the first open container he saw on the table and smudged them right over Laurent’s cheek. He gasped, scandalised. “ _You-…!”_

Laurent grabbed a dirty palette and brushed his entire hand over it, slapping it over Damen’s face. Damen grabbed the containers and they started shoving each other and laughing, smearing paint over each other's bodies, though Laurent was trying very hard to look angry. “Don’t!” he yelled when Damen grabbed a particularly thick dollop of dark blue paint and aimed at his hair but it was too late. He growled and tried to shove Damen really hard but he was shoved back in return. And he fell.

He gasped when his shoulder blades hit the hardwood floor and before he could even attempt to push himself up, a large, naked body was pinning him down. Laurent whimpered and tried to push Damen away but his wrists were grabbed and pushed against the floor. “ _Let. Me. Go.”_ His voice was sharp like a knife but he couldn't help and chuckle over the last syllable and whimper again, struggling like a snake in Damen’s tight hold. Again, there were fingers over his face and neck and he could feel the wetness of the paint but, beyond that, he could feel the tremendous weight above him, the strength of the hands holding him down and the scent of Damen’s perfume, the same he woke up to after that Sunday.

“You started it,” laughed Damen, his curls falling down around his face and tickling Laurent’s cheeks. Their faces were so close and he tried really hard to glare. Soon, their noses touched. Damen was still smiling. He tried to arch his back and escape, but stopped as soon as he realised he was half hard under his jeans and every movement made it worse.

“Get off-…” he snarled again, but the door opened. _Fuck_. 

Damen almost jumped to his feet and turned to face the stranger, still shamelessly naked. It was an older professor, from a different course, and he left immediately. Damen started laughing.

“Are you _fucking insane?_ ” yelled Laurent, pushing himself up and blowing at one of the strands of blond hair falling over his face.

“C’mon, he got a fun story out of it,” replied Damen, still sniggering and walking to the table Laurent was leaning against, trying to regain his posture. He almost moved away before Damen spoke again. “Don’t worry, I'm just trying to find a rag of some sort.”

Laurent grabbed a clean, off-white cotton rag and threw it at Damen. He tried not to look while the man was rubbing it all over his chest and face, still naked and grinning like an idiot. “Everyone here _knows_ me,” he shrieked. Then, he took in a deep breath and turned to Damen, looking a tad guilty. “I'm the one that forgot to lock the door. I'm sorry,” he said honestly, grabbing a dirty towel and starting to pat his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s not a big deal.” Damen smiled at him, but not in amusement. It was a simple and kind smile with an openness behind it that Laurent would never be able to show or fully understand. 

“You’re the one that was naked. Well, is.”

The smile lingered as Damen turned away, walking to the pile of clothes he left on the ground. He started getting dressed while Laurent went back to gathering all of the art supplies, gingerly placing all of the paints and brushes back in their boxes. Then, he heard Damen approach again and he turned around. Thankfully, he was wearing clothes this time.

“I should go.”

Laurent nodded silently.

“I hope-…” Damen paused, wetting his lips. “I hope I wasn't a terrible model.”

He sighed and allowed himself to show a short, subtle smile, shaking his head. “I’ll call you.”

Damen nodded, some flakes of yellow paint clinging to his curls like gold. He looked like the sun, warm and almost offensive in his brightness and Laurent felt like a small, cold rock, so boring and so ordinary in comparison. “If you come by the café again, I’ll make you another free coffee.”

With that, Damen turned around and left and Laurent cursed himself for not saying goodbye.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My chapters just seem to be getting longer each time, I had to stop before I got to 5000 words  
> I'm aiming to post a chapter every day, I just hope I can keep up with that~


	5. Chapter 5

**V - 1**

 

 

Laurent’s phone buzzed. At this point, he had resorted to shoving it under a pillow and lying on it so he could happily ignore any sounds while he was engrossed in his book. Of course, there was no reason for him to acknowledge that he had been reading the same two pages for an hour now.

His phone had buzzed in the morning too. And the day before. It wasn't that he was scared – which he absolutely was, but he had no idea what to do once he would answer. It had been a week since he started his new painting and he hid it behind his desk, avoided the boulevard where Akielos Café was located and refused to go out clubbing this weekend by pretending he was ill. It wasn't too hard to get out of social situations for a while, but everything had its limits.

“For fuck’s sake…” he murmured, feeling the pillow lightly vibrate under his head again. It could have been Vannes or Jord or even his uncle but he knew for a fact that it had to be the same person from before. Laurent finally pulled out the phone from under the pillow, only to confirm his suspicions. As always, he was right.

Damen was certainly not upset with what happened in the studio. In fact, he had smiled and laughed and offered Laurent another free coffee. But to what end? He was straight and probably had noticed the hard on against his hip when he was on top of Laurent. He was straight and he had the best ass in all of Acquitart and probably Paris and Greece and anywhere either of them had ever been. He was straight and Laurent couldn't stop thinking about him. And that wasn't even the biggest problem. What terrified Laurent more was not the possibility of Damen not returning his feelings or ignoring the lingering glances and too intimate touches between them. What truly terrified him was the way Damen sometimes looked at him, the way he would stare, mouth only slightly open, blinking slowly like a pleased cat. The way Damen would sometimes stare at Laurent’s mouth as he spoke and the way he would wet his own lips, subtly, but enough for Laurent to notice. He was prone to notice too many details. And most of the time, he was prone to read too much into those details, sit in bed for hours and analyse everything that had transpired through the entire day and forget about all else. And most of the time, he would be wrong. He was simply afraid that this time, he was right.

He moved the phone from one hand to the other, fixing it with his steady gaze almost as if he would hope to get magical laser eyes and melt it. But the phone wouldn't go away and neither would Damen. He opened it, looking at all the missed calls. One was indeed from Vannes and one was from a friend back at home. But the only name that repeated was Damen’s. He tapped it and watched as it dialled.

When Damen answered, there was only silence for a while. Laurent could hear the constant, calm breathing at the other end and the music and the voices. He cleared his throat.

 _“Hey,”_ said Damen, his usual enthusiasm replaced by a certain disenchantment. Laurent didn't answer. _“…Have I done something to upset you?”_

“No,” he said quickly, but calmly. “I've just been-…” he paused. “I haven’t been feeling great.”

 _“Oh.”_ Laurent could hear the clinks of dishes and running water. _“Are you feeling any better now?”_ As always, the worry in his voice was as genuine as it could get and it made something stir in Laurent’s gut.

“No.” He took in a deep breath. “I'm sorry for what happened last week.”

_“What are you sorry for?”_

“I don’t know.”

And again, there was silence. He started chewing on his lower lip and trying to steady his breathing. Thankfully, Damen spoke before he would have to.

 _“I'm finishing work now but_ -…” a door creaked and closed on the other end and there were voices again. _“Let me buy you a coffee.”_

“No.”

_“Why not?”_

“I don’t know. I just-…” his voice trembled just a bit and he suddenly realised he sounded utterly stupid. “Why do you even want to buy me a coffee? Why did you keep calling?”

_“Why wouldn't I? I thought we were making friends. Why did you think I've been doing all this?”_

Laurent just responded with a very loud and long sigh. “Sorry, I didn't mean that. I didn't assume anything, so don’t worry. I just didn't want you to think-…” He groaned in frustration. “I'm not hitting on you or anything, okay? Don’t worry. I just didn't want things to get weird.”

 _“Oh.”_ The same worn out tone of voice. The same silence. _“…I can still buy you coffee, right?”_

“…Yeah.” He paused, thinking for a bit. But then decided to stop. Thinking did him no good when it came to Damen. “Would you want to model for me again? After coffee, I mean.”

_“I’d love to.”_

“What time, then?”

_“Is three alright? I can come pick you up.”_

“Yeah. I’ll see you then.”

With that, he hung up. He had the habit of always being the one to hang up on people. At least some of his worries were out of the way. But he still had to go out for coffee and be next to Damen for the rest of the day. _Fuck it._  It was much easier to hate him when he was naked and sweaty and disgusting.

He had an hour to get dressed and this time, his wardrobe reflected how uncomfortable he was feeling. He picked knee high boots to go with his skinny jeans and a black turtleneck, covered by a casual blazer. His hair was pulled back loosely, in a half bun. Looking polished made him feel in control, at least over himself, which helped greatly.

When it was almost three, he made his way downstairs, making sure to grab his bag. The painting was still at home but Nicaise was in school today and usually opted to hang out in town afterwards. If anything, he could take advantage of Damen’s presence for some quick sketches and studies too.

When Laurent walked out of the building, he found Damen lounging and waiting on a cast iron bench, next to a rose bush, with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. He was still wearing the barista clothes.

“Did you wait for long?” asked Laurent, walking up to him slowly, regarding him with a neutral look.

“N’ah.” Damen got up immediately and gave him an awkward smile. “You look good today,” he said in one breath and turned to walk. Thankfully, that meant Laurent didn't have to answer.

They walked in silence for most of the way. Laurent tried to keep his head up high and shoulders straight while Damen was almost hunched next to him. It seemed as if he wanted to speak a few times but decided against it, seeing as Laurent was ignoring him quite well. They would have enough time to talk when they got there. If he could avoid awkward conversations on the way there, he would certainly do so.

The café was a bit fuller than usual, with people at several tables, but there were still plenty of empty ones. There was quiet music in the background in a foreign language. The rhythm sounded very Mediterranean to Laurent but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. He shrugged it off and headed for a table somewhere to the side and close to the back. They would be right next to a large window overlooking the street but close to the bookshelves. And, most important, there was no one else around.

Before he could make more than two steps, Damen grabbed his arm in a light hold. “What would you like?”

“The same as before,”  he said quickly, then reconsidered. “Actually, a Cinnamon Latte with extra sugar.”

Laurent had no idea why Damen smiled at him. He sat down, looking as grumpy and cold as ever, and searched through his bag, pulling out a few things. First, his phone, a pack of cigarettes and a pack of Werther’s Original. There was only one left and he carefully removed the clear plastic packaging around it and popped it in his mouth. The sweetness clung to his lips and his tongue in a silky, buttery way and he closed his eyes, enjoying it.

“I actually made it myself,” said Damen with a chuckle, placing two mugs on the table and sitting down, picking the chair closest to Laurent. When he opened his eyes, his coffee had a design in it again. This time, it was an elegant brush curling in the cup, with what seemed to be paint streaks coming from the tip of it. He smiled.

“Do they let you make coffee when you’re not working?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and leaning closer to take in the scent of the cinnamon. There was a strange knot in the back of his throat and it had to do with the notion that Damen made this design in the foam especially for Laurent. 

“Sometimes. I know my way around so if I'm willing to, it’s easier for them,” he replied with a shrug, sipping some of his espresso. His eyes were subtly fixed on Laurent as he drank. “You look more friendly when you’re covered in paint and wearing an apron,” he pointed out.

“I look ridiculous,” argued Laurent, sucking on his butter candy.

“You looked cute,” said Damen with a smile, resting his elbow on the table and placing his chin in his hand, gazing at him. “I've been reading the Iliad,” he confessed, taking another sip. “And other books.”

“Oh.” He licked his lips, tasting the sweet stickiness on them. “Like what?”

“I've been dabbling in some Russian literature. I'm reading Notes from the Underground right now,” said Damen, eyes fixed on Laurent’s lips. “What is that?”

“Whenever I read Dostoevsky, I find myself a bit disconnected from this world. It’s quite dark. I had to read it three times to fully appreciate it. Are you enjoying it?” he asked. “It’s a butter candy.”

“You’re right, I’ll probably have to read it again to fully grasp everything in it. But do I really wanna put myself through that a second time?” he asked with a grin, leaning closer. “May I have one?”

Laurent chuckled. “It’s the last one,” he said, opening his mouth and sticking his tongue out just a bit, the oval, shiny candy resting on it for Damen to see. Before he could close his mouth again, Damen’s fingers stole it from Laurent’s tongue and he immediately shoved it between his own lips. “That is _disgusting_ ,” he complained, frowning and laughing at the same time. “You-… heathen. You gigantic brute. Do you always steal people’s food? What are you, a dog?”

Damen simply continued to grin at him. “It’s really sweet. I like it, though.”

“Well, I'm glad you do, ‘cause you can keep it!” he stated, making a dismissive gesture with his hand and then starting to drink his coffee. “No wonder you’re single and work in a gay club. I can’t imagine any woman staying with you for longer than a day.”

“You’re probably right,” laughed Damen, sucking loudly on the candy. “I wish I could say that’s why my last relationship ended.”

“Oh, it’s not?” he teased, smirking. “Why did it end, then? Did you keep stealing all of her crop tops?”

Damen laughed again, this time louder, and blushed. “I graduated. He met someone else, you know how it goes,” he replied with a shrug. Laurent almost choked on his sweet drink.

“ _He?"_ he asked before he could stop himself. Laurent almost had the instinct to slap himself but thankfully he realised that would be inappropriate. And not the best impression.

“Erasmus,” murmured Damen, smiling lightly. “We’re still friends. It was a bit awkward when he was still working here. But we talk from time to time now.”

“I see,” he replied, trying to sound as casual and as polite as he could in that moment. “So you lied to get the job at Vere?”

Damen shrugged. “I had a girlfriend at the time. She came with me to the interview.”

Laurent’s hands were slightly sweating from how tight he was holding the hot mug. His knuckles had gone white but his face was just as expressionless. “He seemed nice. I'm sorry it went that way.”

“It’s alright.” Damen waved his hand through the air. “That was one of the best courses my relationships have taken.”

He raised an eyebrow and finally placed the mug back on the table, his fingers now playing with the button on his blazer. “What was the worst?”

“The girlfriend before. She left me for my brother,” he said with a strange chuckle afterwards.

“Has he got bigger biceps than you, or what? Though I can hardly imagine how that would be possible.” After that comment, he allowed himself to stare at said biceps. Just for a few moments.

It made Damen smile, but not for long. “I think he’s just smarter than me. She likes people who can challenge her, I guess.” Another shrug. There was a certain tension between them but Laurent suspected that it was there for different reasons. He could see why Damen would be uncomfortable speaking about his exes. But Laurent was still trying to process the fact that he had told Damen he wasn't interested. Just that morning. He still had no idea if it had been for the best or not.

“And you consider yourself stupid, or what?” His eyebrow angled up even more and his lips went into a thin line. “Maybe she left you because you underrate yourself so much.”

“And here I was, thinking you considered me a bumbling fool this entire time,” grinned Damen, leaning in bit more. He fluttered his eyelashes and Laurent chuckled.

“You’re not doing much to change my opinion of you right now.” A mixture of sandalwood and white musk invaded his senses and suddenly all the tension in his body melted away and he was slumping forward, towards Damen. The seams in his blazer felt tight and uncomfortable and his throat felt strangled by the turtleneck.

“I think I'm doing a decent job. First time I bought you a drink, it didn't go this well.” Damen pulled back slightly, still smiling, and Laurent was suddenly brought back to the reality that wasn't made of nothing but Damen’s perfume.

He grabbed the mug and emptied it with one last gulp. “Do you want to go now?” he asked, his eyes skimming slowly over Damen’s features. There was the tiniest amount of stubble spreading from his sideburns and over his jaw and his lips were wet and sticky from the coffee and the butter candy.

“Sure. The same studio?”

“My place, actually.”

 

**V – 2**

 

When they walked in, his bedroom was dark and still smelled of sleep and the tea he had made the previous night. He pulled the blinds open, letting the light invade the room, and then started moving things to prepare a good place for Damen to model. While he was doing that, Damen was already peeling off his clothes, placing them neatly on a chair. He started stretching, only in his underwear now, his feelings almost reaching the ceiling when he would extend them up.

There was a strange silence between them. Laurent turned on the small but fancy radio he had acquired from a vintage shop some weeks before and set it on a frequency that was broadcasting old, French music, most of them by Edith Piaf, Jacques Brel or Dalida. Damen gave him a curious look. “I didn't know you liked old music.”

“I like a lot of things that you don’t know about,” said Laurent, trying not to make the statement sound mysterious but rather simply blunt. He took off his blazer, then turned to Damen, regarding him for a few moments. “Do you mind turning around for a moment?”

“Just a moment?” he asked, grinning, but Laurent threw a sock at him. When he was finally facing the other way, he started changing, putting on an old T-shirt with some small rips in it and a pair of soft, grey sweatpants. He twisted his bun once more, pinning it up, and then grabbed a rag and half stuffed it in his pocket, ready to use.

“You can turn around now.” And Damen did. He didn't take his briefs off yet, neither did he move to stand in the centre of the room. He just stared at Laurent, eyes going up and down his body. “Something funny?”

“You look really soft,” he commented casually, pushing down his underwear. Laurent was still staring but turned to look at the easel with fake interest until Damen was done, choosing to ignore both the comment and the view.

Damen got in the right position a lot easier this time. Laurent was still not used to staring at that particular naked body, but he tried to focus on the painting, carefully adding the first thin layers, mixing his paints and linseed oils, creating all the base shades and tints and tones. They didn't talk like before, soft songs about love and Paris and Bastille droning in the background for the next hour. Damen didn't move, but wasn't tense either, his gigantic body somehow managing to look as gracious as Laurent’s painting, like a much bigger David carved out of black and gold marble. Where the sun shone on his body, his skin looked as bright and translucent as amber. Several times he found himself considering carefully how to paint Patroclus to capture the real beauty standing just a few feet away from him and several times he found himself unskilled enough to translate the real image with oil paints and rough brushes. Damen would have made a better model for a photographer, Laurent mused, when the hour was finally up and they went to take a cigarette break. He was going to give Damen a dressing gown but Damen went out on the balcony completely naked and leaned against the old marble edge, taking in the beautiful old buildings on the street and not caring for anyone who would see him.

With a certain, strange feeling of pride and possessiveness, Laurent joined him. His T-shirt was too large and his sweatpants clung awkwardly to his small hips and his hair was a mess but he was standing next to a naked Adonis for the entire neighbourhood to see and suddenly, he stopped caring what he looked like. For the first time, it didn't matter.

“Your neighbour is staring,” murmured Damen, lighting his cigarette and extending the lighter to Laurent. Indeed, an old lady from the opposite building was staring at them while watering her flowers.

“Let them stare.”

From inside the room came the sound of music, fading slightly into the balcony and blending in with the wind and the sound of cars - _Tu me visais droit au cœur, Bang Bang, tu me tuais, Bang Bang, et je tombais…_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am a firm believer that Laurent cleans whilst singing along to Non, je ne regrette rien at the top of his lungs and no one will change my mind (((he also dances with the broom)))
> 
> Anyway, if anyone is wondering, the lyrics at the end are from a song called Bang Bang. My favourite version is by Dalida (in Italian), even though Laurent is listening to the French version.  
> They translate to: You aimed straight at my heart, Bang Bang, you killed me, Bang Bang, and I fell~


	6. Chapter 6

**VI - 1**

 

 

Vannes and Jord became particularly insistent on making plans for the three of them to hang out and Laurent became particularly insistent on avoiding them. It wasn't that he didn't like his friends. He simply felt wary of being cornered.

Both of his friends had asked about Laurent’s new life model more than once and while he didn't hide how often he saw Damen or spoke to him, he wasn't keen on sharing his thoughts and feelings. That was, frankly, one of the things he was worst at. Not to mention he was apparently bad at making sense of them himself. He wasn't stupid. He had known for a while that he found Damen attractive. _Very_ attractive. And, in spite of all odds, extremely charming too.

They had spent hours on his balcony on that day, chatting and smoking and singing along to old songs. Damen was enchanted with Laurent’s voice and Laurent could do nothing but stare at his bright smile every time a particularly cheesy line would come up. When they were both sitting down, Damen had teased him and Laurent had tried to kick him in return but the entire ordeal turned into the best foot rub in his entire life. Watching his small, pale foot disappear behind those gigantic hands caused him to chainsmoke until it was done.

But it was when Damen had left that he had realised how doomed he truly was. Because the first thing he did was bury his face in the pillow Damen’s head had been on just an hour before, during one of the breaks, stretching in his bed and demanding a cup of coffee. It smelled of sandalwood and musk and he slept on it every night until Friday.

Damen didn't stop calling him. They would have a short chat on the phone every evening and Laurent would always retreat to his balcony and close all the doors and focus on nothing but their conversation. They didn't see each other or spend that much time with each other and their exchanges were still short and awkward but they happened, every day, like clockwork.

They talked about all sorts of things. Mostly about each-other’s days and Damen’s new ridiculous customers and Laurent’s art projects. On Friday morning, Damen called again, a lot earlier than usual. In fact, early enough that Laurent was still asleep and the buzzing noise of his phone made him almost roll out of bed and fall. He answered immediately, only to hear Damen’s awake and cheerful voice on the other end.

 _“Rise and shine,”_ and he did. Well, almost. He groaned and yawned loudly into the phone. _“Too early for you?”_

“A bit.” Laurent opened the large doors to the balcony and stretched into the cold air and sunlight pouring in. The exhaust fumes from the cars outside were covered by the smell of dead leaves, some still hanging from the trees high enough to reach his window.

 _“How did you sleep?”_ asked Damen, for some reason letting out a short chuckle afterwards.

“Brilliant, until now.” Laurent’s legs were soon covered in small goosebumps, as he was wearing nothing but some soft cotton shorts. He scratched his head, realising he forgot to untie his hair before bed and it was all tangled and full of kinks now. “What’s so funny?”

_“You look fantastic, really. Especially from down here.”_

He almost jumped, looking down immediately and seeing Damen right under his balcony, looking up at him and laughing. “My _god-…”_ He ran back inside immediately, pulling the curtains closed. “What’s wrong with you? I could've been naked, you monstrous fiend!”

_“If you’re naked on a balcony, don’t complain about people seeing you.”_

“I _will_ complain when you slither around like a snake and watch me from the street,” he whined, voice going higher with each word. He grabbed the first dressing gown he found, a dark blue silk one, and wrapped it around himself. He took the pack of Werther’s Original from his side table and went to the balcony again, running a hand through his tangled hair again.

_“Ah, there he is.”_

Laurent hung up. “Are you gonna stand under my bloody balcony all day, or what? What are you even doing?” he asked, leaning over the edge and glaring at Damen, though a smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He unwrapped the candy.

“Throw me one too,” said Damen. He was wearing a large, camel coat and his hands were shoved in his pockets, looking like a delighted puppy from down there.

Laurent smirked, popping the first one in his mouth. “Ask nicely.”

“Pretty please,” he pleaded, bringing his hands together and grinning. Laurent threw him a butter candy and Damen caught it swiftly.

“So, why are you here?” he asked, lounging against the edge of the balcony with a wide, sly smile plastered on his face.

“I wanna talk to you. Come down here, will you?”

“Shall I jump? I reckon you can catch me,” he joked, leaning even more over the edge so that he was balancing himself on his stomach, his feet off the ground.

“I’d rather not test that. I can come upstairs, if it stops you from taking the quickest way down.”

Laurent shook his head, stepping away. “Do you want coffee?” he asked.

“That would be lovely. I've got a sort of half free day today so I haven’t had any.”

He nodded and disappeared back inside. As quickly as he could, he put a kettle on and put some freshly ground coffee in his cafetière. While the water was boiling, he managed to untangle his braid and comb through his hair with his fingers, tying it back up again. He poured the water, then went to clean his face and use some mouthwash. If Damen was so keen on waking him up, he would have to get used to waiting.

When the coffee was ready and he was remotely presentable, he put on the first pair of fluffy slippers he found and went downstairs holding a small, fancy china cup.

Damen was, again, waiting on the bench by the large climbing roses, with his legs crossed casually. The same familiar smile appeared on his face and Laurent instinctively smiled back, unable to help himself, though he raised an eyebrow to counteract it.

“First day you’re free and you immediately come here to bother me?” he asked, sitting down next to Damen and handing him the cup. “Careful, it’s hot.”

“Bothering you is my favourite hobby lately,” murmured Damen, taking the cup and blowing into it. “I actually wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh?” His eyes went big and he grinned. “No, I won’t marry you, I'm sorry. I'm too young to commit.”

Damen made a very dramatic sad face but he couldn't help laughing. “Such a shame. I had the whole thing planned. I even bought you a dress.”

Laurent smacked him and snickered. He removed his feet from his slippers and lifted them onto the bench. “White would look better on you.” He yawned loudly. “… What did you wanna ask me, really?”

Damen sipped from the cup, his entire face looking relaxed and content. “There’s a concert tonight. At the café,” he said, giving Laurent a questioning look. “I'm free, but I promised to help a bit if I go in. Anyway, it usually gets quite busy. I wanted to know if you want me to save you a table.”

He turned, lounging on the bench and sprawling his legs over Damen’s lap. “What kind of music is it?”

Damen handed Laurent the coffee cup. “A friend of mine, she’s gonna sing those old songs you like. Thought it might be your thing,” he murmured, taking one of Laurent’s feet into his hands and starting to stroke it gently.

“It is, actually,” he hummed, stretching and moaning lightly into the touches. “This is even more my thing though.”

Damen kept rubbing his foot, his thumbs kneading carefully into all the knots and soft skin, his touches softening every time Laurent would twitch in his hold. “You can bring your friends, if you want.”

“I might,” he whispered, closing his eyes and leaning his head back. “…Yeah-…Right there.” Damen laughed. “Shut up.”

“Tsk, tsk. You ought to be more polite to someone who’s got their hands on your feet,” said Damen, suddenly wrapping a hand around his angle and using the other one to flick his fingers repeatedly over the sole of his foot, causing Laurent to yelp and squeal in his hold. Shocking even himself, his first reaction was to throw the coffee straight at Damen’s face, who just stared incredulously while his shirt was getting soaked. Both of them just gazed at each other, in silence, Laurent in complete terror. Then, Damen laughed again. “…And I ought to be more polite to someone holding a coffee cup, it seems.”

“Finally, you've come to your senses,” he said, kicking Damen lightly in the ribs. “You should _always_ be polite with me.” He sat up, grabbing the corner of his dressing gown and starting to wipe Damen’s face.

“You _stole_ my slippers!” came a loud voice from somewhere high up and Laurent opened his eyes to see Nicaise staring down at them. “Can’t you get your own slippers dirty for your boyfriend?”

Laurent bolted up and glared. “Aren't you supposed to be getting ready for school?”

“I _can’t_ go in the bathroom without my slippers!”

He groaned and turned to Damen. “I need to go before he throws a bucket of water on us or something.”

“ _I heard you!”_

“At least that would clean me a bit,” chuckled Damen, getting up. “I’ll see you tonight then?”

“Yeah,” he replied, awkwardly clutching the cup in his hands. Then, Damen flicked a wet hand at his face, splattering him with drops of coffee. “ _You-…!”_

But he ran away.

 

**VI – 2**

 

They got there just before eight. Vannes was the only one particularly dressed up, with matte red lipstick and high pumps. Jord was under dressed as always and Laurent went for a dark cardigan and a grey, wool blazer that was just slightly too big for him.

Damen had been right. The café, that was usually empty save for a few hipsters with their laptops or books coming in for overpriced coffee, was now full with people, some of whom were outside smoking or taking pictures. When they made their way inside, the makeshift stage was just being prepared in the centre of the venue and Damen was waltzing around, serving drinks and snacks to everyone. He stopped moving the moment he saw the three of them walk in and waved with his free hand.

“Well, if it isn't the beefy shot boy,” drawled Vannes, smiling and kissing his cheeks, leaving lipstick marks all over Damen’s face. “Lovely to see you.”

Jord shook his hand firmly. “If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't see this hermit for another month,” he commented, gesturing with his head at Laurent, who elbowed him hard.

“I just have to go over and throw pebbles in his window ‘til he talks to me,” joked Damen, his eyes lingering just a bit too long on Laurent’s face. “Glad you could make it.”

“You promised me a table,” he demanded. “Where is it?”

“Follow me.”

They made it to a small, circular table, with four chairs around it, right next to the stage. Damen quickly moved to pull the chair for Laurent while Vannes gave him a funny look.

“Any drinks? Food?” he asked, eyes still locked with Laurent’s. Vannes asked for a Desperados and Jord asked for a soda and a sandwich. Laurent, however, demanded a large bottle of Prosecco and two glasses, which made Damen smile before disappearing back into the crowd.

“Wow, that’s some puppy love right there,” said Vannes, sitting down between Laurent and Jord. “I am certainly enjoying the friend privileges.”

“You’re just being gross again,” he snarled, leaning back in his chair. “Honestly, am I not allowed to make friends?”

“It’s a bit dodgy, though.”

Laurent turned to Jord and frowned. “What?”

“Him.”

“What’s dodgy?” he asked, turning away and trying to focus on the instruments being brought onto the stage.

“He was dancing with all kinds of guys in a club just a couple of weeks ago and now suddenly he’s bringing you sparkling wine and takes you out to see some chanteuse? You know, I'm just saying.”

“You’re just being bitter, peaches. Though I will admit I never saw him as a hopeless romantic. He seems more like the kind of guy to ravage you in some dirty toilets and not leave a phone number,” she joked, but Laurent had already turned away and started playing with his bracelet. The very premise of the conversation, that Damen was so deeply interested in Laurent, was making him rather uncomfortable. Never mind the other implications.

“Then, of course, maybe it’s the money,” added Jord with a shrug. “If I wasn't such a prude, I’d certainly get naked for that much cash. I bet he leaves mad tips too,” he smirked, nudging Vannes lightly.

“Will you two shut the fuck up? He’s coming back,” he growled at them, slamming his fist just a bit into the table. His eyes were fixed on Damen as he approached through the crowd and he tried very hard not to glare.

Actually, he smiled when Damen put the bottle in front of him, turning it slowly so Laurent could see the label. “Think you can handle it?” he asked, sitting down next to him and popping the bottle open.

“Are you trying to insult me?” he asked, falsely offended.

“I was the one that had to carry you home, remember?” Damen filled both glasses, handing one to Laurent. They clinked them and both took a sip at the same time.

“Well, that’s clearly what you’re made for. I should take advantage of it more often.”

The banter kept going non-stop until the concert actually started. Vannes and Jord attempted to join a few times, but soon, they were engrossed in their own conversation.

The singer whom Damen apparently knew was a short, blonde girl with curly hair and a certain grace to her facial expressions that came together like a puzzle piece with the slow music that started playing. She began the concert with ‘ _Je suis Malade’_ and Laurent listened intently from the first moment. He kicked Jord under the table when he wouldn't stop talking to Vannes. Whenever he would shush someone, Damen would laugh and Laurent would push him slightly. The songs rolled one after the other, going through almost all of his favourites and, at a certain point, he became particularly aware of Damen’s presence next to him. He went through two more glasses of prosecco until he had to ask Damen for another one, but he refused. As much as Laurent loved to argue when tipsy, he acknowledged that it was a good idea to stop before he would actually get drunk. At least for the sake of the good music.

Sometime close to the end of the performance, he felt Damen’s thigh next to his own and, thoughtlessly, wrapped his leg around the other man’s calf, his attention still on the person singing. Every time he would slightly sway with the music, his leg would rub against Damen, warm where they were touching. Several times, he felt the need to lean against him, but stopped himself until finally it all came to an end with ‘ _La Vie en Rose’_ being sung twice in a row.

The moment it was over, there was a swarm of people approaching the singer for photos and congratulations. Apparently, she was on the same campus as Damen but older than him. When their legs had to separate for Damen to go and talk to her, Laurent felt a certain disappointment, but he simply excused himself and went outside for a cigarette. He had bought a pack of Nat Sherman cigarettes with a certain flavour to them. They were black with gold tips and long in his small hands. While he was leaning against the window doors outside, he could see Vannes engrossed in a conversation with the curly haired lady and he snorted to himself. Damen, however, was nowhere to be seen.

He was almost done with the cigarette when he finally showed up, wearing a large, thick trench coat that he had clearly switched for the one Laurent ruined in the morning.

“I'm free,” he said, smiling and approaching with very slow steps.

“That’s wonderful,” replied Laurent sweetly, puffing his cigarette. “Are you done socializing?”

“Are you upset?” Damen moved even closer, getting inside Laurent’s personal space almost instantly. “Those are some fancy cigarettes you have there.”

He pulled out the small box and opened it, offering one to Damen.

“I’ll try one later,” he said, smiling at him. “If you let me take you out for a pizza. I'm starving.”

“You offer me such beautiful music and then you insist I have a _pizza?_ ” he asked, raising an eyebrow at him, the corner of his mouth twitching just a bit.

“I promise you, it’s gonna be a good pizza.” With that, Damen offered him his arm. Hesitantly, Laurent took it and they started walking down the busy boulevard filled with trinket sellers and street performers. Acquitart was, in many ways, like a much smaller version of Paris. Only it was supposed to be a student city, rather than a tourist one. Still, during weekends, people would pour into the streets from anywhere close by for a pleasant evening under the chestnut trees and by the canal.

Damen’s arm felt so warm against his, warmer than their legs had felt inside the café. There was no wind, which was rare for their city, and if it wasn't for the thick layers of leaves on the ground, it would have felt like spring.

They didn't walk for long until they reached a very small place with a bright sign outside, apparently called Pink Flamingo Pizza. Laurent waited by the door and asked Damen to get him a Margherita and when he came back, he wasn't holding pizza, but a pink balloon.

“Are we meant to eat that?” he asked, grinning when Damen looked confused.

“No, no. We wait by the canal with it and they bring us the pizza when it’s ready,” he explained and Laurent was again clinging to his arm. There were less than fifty meters to the edge of the canal but he didn't need any excuses to hold onto Damen.

“So you want us to eat outside? Can’t even get us a table? Tonight’s standards are just getting lower and lower,” he joked as they walked up to the patch of grass next to the water. Damen took off his coat and laid it on the ground, sitting on one half of it.

“If you don’t like my plans, you can sit somewhere else,” he offered with a shrug, but he was still smiling. Laurent scoffed and sat beside him, their bodies pressed together. Damen was still holding the balloon, his face turned to Laurent. “Did you like the music?”

“I absolutely hated it,” he proclaimed, not letting any emotions betray him. “It was the worst performance I have ever witnessed. I can’t believe you would hold such company.”

Damen just stared at him for a second then laughed, giving Laurent a light shove. Laurent shoved him back but just ended up clinging to his arm again. The yellow street lights somehow managed to make Damen’s skin shine even more, he noted, assuming his own skin was simply red and splotchy from the temperature change and all the laughing. Damen somehow still managed to hold such an affectionate and inviting gaze on him. “Did you like the wine?” he asked.

Before Laurent could answer, someone pulled up with a bike right next to them. He was holding bright pink pizza boxes and a large, pink plastic bag, handing all of it to Damen who pulled out his wallet to tip the delivery guy and then gave him the balloon. Then, his hand went in the bag from where he pulled a very small bottle of sparkling rosé that he handed to Laurent.

“I was going to complain about it, but I can’t do that now, can I?” he joked, opening the bottle immediately. “How much did that cost? I should pay half,” he offered. For some reason, Jord’s words came up into his mind and he found them quite hard to shut down. After all, Damen had to work two jobs and he didn't even make that much money. And maybe Laurent’s presence was desirable because of financial reasons too.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said, waving his hand dismissively as he opened the pizza boxes. The one Laurent had ordered looked like a perfectly normal pizza, with small, melted balls of mozzarella, fresh basil leaves and tomato sauce. Damen’s pizza however looked very strange. It had what seemed to be Gorgonzola and figs and some fried plantains. He stared at it curiously.

“Are you strange in all aspects of your life?” he asked, leaning in to smell the food. He grabbed one of the slices from his own Margherita and bit into it hungrily, remembering that he skipped dinner.

“It’s my favourite pizza!” argued Damen, starting to eat at the same time. “I thought you would be the one with a more sophisticated palate.”

“Oh, my.” He took a swing from the bottle. “The big man can use big words.”

“I just choose not to sound like a ponce every time I speak.” Laurent chuckled, finishing his slice and giving Damen the bottle. After having one gulp of the bubbling, sweet drink, he licked his lips and looked at Laurent. “Would you like to try it?”

“It looks disgusting,” he stated, squinting his eyes at it.

Damen grabbed a slice and ripped a small piece from it, mostly with cheese and figs. He extended it to Laurent, not for him to take it, but bringing it very close to his mouth. He leaned in, but only after rolling his eyes as obviously as he could, and bit into it. It was sweet and gooey and had a lot of conflicting flavours, but they all somehow fit together. He chewed it slowly and pretended to carefully consider the taste before smiling and nodding at Damen. Then, before he knew it, the rest of the piece was extended to him again. He gave up on any attempts to complain and continued to eat very small pieces of pizza from Damen’s fingers.

“I can eat on my own, you know?”

“Oh, but where’s the fun in that?”

He sighed and stole the bottle, washing away the sweet, sticky taste of the figs. He ate two more slices of his own pizza, not wanting to waste it or just eat all of Damen’s. Soon, he was full and he started throwing pieces of crust into the water, close to a few swans floating on its surface.

“I bought you pizza and you’re feeding the swans with it?” teased Damen, starting to rip pieces of his own pizza to throw them.

“Maybe they have a more _sophisticated palate_ than me.”

“You hang out with me. You clearly don’t have a taste for the finer things in life.”

He smacked Damen and leaned against him in a sort of half shove. “I'm fine enough for my entire group of friends.”

“I can’t argue with that.”

Suddenly, a thought popped in Laurent’s mind. And probably other thoughts too, but it was irrelevant, because he just slowly started sliding down against Damen, his entire body rearranging so that he was down on the ground with his head in Damen’s lap, staring up at him. “What else is in that pink bag of yours?”

Damen smiled down at him and started searching through it. He pulled out something small between his fingers. “Open your mouth.”

“How can I trust you?”

“Open your mouth.” And he did.

It took him a few moments to realise that he was chewing on a piece of crepe filled with cinnamon and vanilla cream. He licked his lips and opened his mouth again, making Damen laugh.

Another piece of crepe found its way into his mouth. And then another. And another.

The fifth piece, however, was cruelly snatched away from him, several times as he tried to push himself up to get it. Damen pulled it closer to his own face and eventually allowed Laurent to close his lips around his fingers and eat it, looking him straight into the eyes. The sudden whiff of perfume and the feeling of Damen’s breath against his face snapped Laurent back to reality almost instantly. He was still half in Damen’s lap and their noses were slightly touching. But Damen waited.

Slower than anything he had done in his entire life, Laurent closed his eyes. His eyelashes fluttered only slightly, his mouth barely open as his breath met Damen’s. He shifted, supporting himself on his hand a bit better, and leaned in until their faces touched. His mind was completely blank, like a fuzzy cloud of cigarette smoke blocked every single thought process from taking place. Damen’s upper lip was half brushing against Laurent’s bottom lip and he pressed the smallest kiss against it, prompting Laurent to kiss him back, fully on the mouth, the sugary softness lingering between them; his lips moved as slowly as ever, barely leaving brushes and pecks that would last just a bit too long. Everything was just happening. It just was.

Damen’s arm was around him before he even knew what was going on and he was pulled in Damen’s lap, straddling him. Instinctively, his hands went into the man’s thick curls, hanging on gently and trying not to arch his back when Damen’s fingers touched his waist, stroking the sides of his body with a certain warmth and tenderness. And then, their lips were touching again, the kiss only faintly deeper, Damen running his tongue over Laurent’s lower lip. Laurent let out the lightest, most silent gasp, and kissed him back, just as gently as before, fingers stroking Damen’s hair sluggishly.

He could feel something gathering in his gut, something like a tight knot warming him up from the inside. His cheeks were burning and he wondered if Damen could feel them. He wondered if Damen could feel how fast his heart was beating or how short and small the breaths he took were and how his legs occasionally just trembled. Because for Laurent, all of those small things were like waves crashing into his body and causing him to react even more to the smallest touch of Damen’s fingers or his lips. He tried to worry about someone seeing them, about tourists on the street watching them but simply couldn't find enough care in the entire world.

Then, Damen pulled away.

He looked flustered and his eyelids were still half closed, blinking fast as he fixed Laurent. One corner of his mouth went up and he inhaled slowly. “I thought you weren't hitting on me,” he joked.

Laurent’s entire body went stone cold. He broke the eye contact, got up and walked away with large, heavy steps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO LATE WITH THIS  
> i've been having a headache all evening so writing it was a pain in the ass. i apologise if it's sub-par~


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Late again but this was so hard to write. It was even longer before and I had to rewrite it like three times, but I'm finally done~

** VII – 1 **

The entire walk home felt like being drenched in freezing water over and over again. All he could remember was that he was shaking and that he was walking faster than humanly possible but the streets seemed to stretch in front of him forever, not ending, not letting him escape the labyrinth that lead to his home.

The places on his skin where Damen had touched him, especially his lips, were still burning long after he managed to stumble in and lock himself in his room. He had sat in a chair, not taking off any of his clothes, not even his shoes, simply staring at a large, vertical mirror for what seemed like hours. Of course, when he checked the clock, it had only been twenty minutes.

His bauble had been shattered so cruelly. He felt witless and cheated, by Damen but also by himself. How could he go through an entire night and not realise it had been a date? Had Damen known Laurent was so oblivious? Or was he right?

Either Damen had thought Laurent was a liar or Damen was entirely right and Laurent had lost every single precious ounce of self-control from his body. Maybe he had indeed been philandering with Damen from the very beginning of their interactions. Maybe he had tried so hard not to but Damen had somehow managed to demolish all of his meticulously built walls in just days, walls that Laurent had treasured and reinforced with every opportunity in the past. The walls that kept him safe. He wanted, more than anything, to be safe.

The prospect that one person could stroll into his life and affect him on such a fundamental level was petrifying. Before, he would always notice. He would construct every action, every word, no matter how small, to keep himself safe and work towards the culmination he had desired. _Fuck_ , _fuck, fuck…_

He groaned and got up from the chair, starting to strip as fast as he could. His phone ringed loudly in his room but he muted it and threw it in a drawer, slamming it shut. The room was close to spinning, the ground seemed to be running from under his feet until he realised he was simply moving around aimlessly, in his underwear, with his trousers crumpled around his ankles. He felt trapped. There was no way out of this. He could have thrown the portrait away, deleted Damen’s number and he could ignore and avoid him stubbornly. And Laurent was brilliant and being stubborn. But his feelings seemed to be winning that battle.

Jord’s words kept circling his thoughts, like hungry wolves, but he was too tired to fight them and too tired to indulge them. They were just there, persistently, floating through his mind as he ignored them. If Damen had really not acknowledged Laurent’s claim of not hitting on him, if he had done that, just for financial reasons, Laurent couldn't be arsed to care. Being showered in affection in exchange for money was hardly something he couldn't handle and certainly not something that would scare him. There were worse things that Damen’s presence had done to him. And, as much as he wanted to despise Damen for it, he couldn't. Because it hadn't been his fault. Despite Laurent’s inclinations to be unreasonably paranoid about everyone’s intentions, he had come to realise that Damen was one of the few people in this world who had no hidden reasons behind his actions. Damen had wanted to be his friend. Damen was attracted to him. Damen had taken him on a tacky and obnoxious date. Laurent had loved all of it.

It certainly wasn't Damen’s fault. Laurent was simply not made for these things.

Most of the night was spent trying not to cry. He was never prone to shedding tears over anything. He had cried, in the distant past, when some of the worst events in his life had taken place. After that, he had decided there was nothing worse that could happen to him so there was nothing worth crying over. Crying, like many other things, was a weakness he couldn't afford to show. But a weakness he desperately wanted to indulge in, at least in the privacy of his bedroom.

It was unfortunate that not crying was not only a matter of pride but a matter of his sense of self. Damen had taken away the only weapon Laurent had for guarding himself against being hurt. Regaining that one last fragment of self-control would have meant the world to him. So his eyes remained dry and his head continued to ache with burdens he couldn't release.

The next morning, he had barely dared to check his phone. When he did, he was both relieved and a bit aggrieved that Damen had only called him twice and there was only one text message left for him. It only asked if he had made it home alright. And as always, Damen was ever caring and compassionate and Laurent ended up throwing his phone against a wall. _It was unfair_.

When noon rolled around, after Laurent had spent his morning pacing around and trying not to kill Nicaise for all of his painfully accurate assumptions, Damen had started calling. Then, there were more texts and every single one of them was begging Laurent to simply let him know if he was alright. It was evening when he decided to reply, simply typing _“I’m alright,”_ and then not answering to him again. He argued with himself that he just didn’t want Damen to show up at his door, something he was certainly capable of.

It took him another restless night of trying to win a staring contest with his ceiling before he actually started thinking about what was happening again. Before he actually decided what he was going to do.

** VII – 2 **

It was Sunday night when he entered Club Vere. His conservative clothes were replaced by the tightest black skinny jeans and matching T-shirt he could find, his hair was loose and wavy and silky and his lips moisturised and plump. He was still as natural as ever, but after fretting around all day, forgetting to eat or drink coffee and not being able to help Nicaise with homework, he had decided to at least try and focus on every single detail of his appearance. He had even rubbed his arms and shoulders with a coconut oil massage bar, leaving his skin velvety and soft to the touch. This entire process was meant to build up his confidence, but the closer it got to the time he had settled on, the more agitated he felt.

All the tension in his body mellowed down the moment he entered the crowd. The music and the flashing lights were almost making him move on his own, pushing through groups of plastered people until he made it to one empty stool somewhere close to the bar. That night, the club was busier than any other time he had been in there and the bartender, unsurprisingly, continued to ignore him for a long while. Laurent didn’t care. His eyes were occupied, scanning the horde of young people for one particularly tall and massive body. As expected, it didn’t take him long to find Damen, just as naked as the last time, trying to smile as he was serving drinks to a group of patrons throwing tips at him. His jeans were ripped almost everywhere and his hair was tousled and damp with sweat. He would have looked so incredibly edible if it wasn’t for the tired, worn down look on his face. The moment his weary eyes locked on Laurent’s, they widened, and he almost stepped forward. Laurent did not break eye contact but his gaze said it all: Keep away. And Damen understood. 

From that moment onwards, every time Damen would go somewhere to serve drinks, he would make sure to circle around Laurent as widely as he could. Laurent watched him relentlessly, absentmindedly ordering a drink and only realising he got a Pomegranate Martini when it arrived. Every fibre in his body was focused on one thing: Damen. The way he walked, the way he smiled, the way he tried not to drop the tray when someone would bump into him. Damen’s dark, sun-kissed skin, shining like a gilded treasure under the strobe lights. Damen’s ample curls sticking to his temples and bobbling with every step. And, above all, Damen’s affectionate, yet unsure gaze, every time it met Laurent’s. He looked like summer.

He could tell Damen was trying very hard not to look at him and failed regularly, flushing as soon as he would realise what he was doing. Still, Laurent never stopped. He had taken off his leather jacket and was now leaning back, arms sprawled against the countertop, elegant legs crossed casually. In spite of his ill-fated height, the jeans made them look long and slender.

 He was watching Damen like a panther, ready to bounce at any moment, but so very patient. To Damen, his face probably looked cold and impassable, but he would never know how many hours – days really – Laurent had needed to be able to regain this amount of constraint over himself. He was proud, though, and thoroughly enjoying seeing the blood drain from Damen’s face when he would show the slightest change to his expression, like raise an eyebrow or purse his lips.

If Laurent would forget what he was about to do, all of the fear from before would probably be gone, replaced by the delight of having this much monopoly over a person. Instead, he finished his Martini, swallowing the last drops of it together with the sweet pomegranate seed and slipped off the stool. He grabbed his jacket and quickly strode outside of the club, pulling out his Nat Sherman box and quickly lighting a cigarette with a shaking hand. He puffed it nervously, glancing around for a while before leaning against the outside of the building and allowing himself to clear his mind. Staring that much at Damen and that intensely made him feel a bit light-headed and go weak at the knees. But this time, his stubbornness was winning.

“Haven’t seen you around often,” came the slurred words of a low voice and Laurent suddenly turned to be met with an unfamiliar face.

“That’s because I don’t come here often,” he responded, voice cold and levelled. Other men, in a group a few meters away from them, were smiling and mouthing words to the guy that had approached him. He concluded that they knew each other.

“Must be my lucky night then,” he said with a smile, leaning against the same wall, his arm slightly touching Laurent’s. An unpleasant shiver went through his body.

“I doubt it. This is the last time I’ll be here.”

“I only need one night, baby,” he almost purred, his smile widening as he leaned in closer. “You’re awfully beautiful.”

“And awfully not interested.”

“Don’t be a tease,” he insisted.

“Give the man a chance!” came a loud, even drunker voice from the group of strangers. “You’re the hottest twink to walk in here in _ages_!”

“It would be a shame to waste you,” he murmured.

“It would be a shame if you didn’t fuck off,” came another voice, surprisingly, not Laurent’s. He moved his burning glare from the man to the person who just approached. His mouth suddenly went dry and his soft lips now felt chapped and rough. Damen had one hand resting on his thick, naked hip, gesturing with his head for the guy to leave. “I’ll call security on your ass faster than you can vomit all that alcohol in your stomach.”

The stranger drunkenly glowered at Damen, muttering curses that Laurent couldn’t understand. It could have been because he was drunk and the music was still covering a lot of the sounds outside, but it could have been because Laurent’s focus was back on the one person who somehow could captivate it so fully.

“What an ass,” snarled Damen, walking even closer to Laurent, but not entering his personal space at all. “Did he do anything?”

He shook his head, still staring. When he realised the carefully calculated coldness from before was gone, replaced by wide doe eyes and red cheeks, it was a bit too late. “…Thank you.”

“I’m sorry, if you didn’t want me to talk to you. I just thought I should help,” he explained in a faint voice, wetting his lips fretfully, blinking fast. Laurent took a step forward. Damen leaned back a bit, but froze. Another step and they were only separated by a few layers of thin air. Laurent’s face was at the same level with Damen’s chest but for some reason, it was Damen that felt small, almost ready to disappear.

Laurent lifted one hand up, slowly. He licked his lips and the tips of his fingers brushed slightly over Damen’s chest, caressing the soft skin he found there and the small trails of dark hair, fading as it went down and getting thicker again when it reached his leather trousers. Damen was breathing hard against his touch, every time he inhaled his chest pressing against his fingers even more. Laurent moved closer, his hand pressing fully against Damen’s chest. His other hand went to his hip and then around his waist, pulling him close and resting the side of his face against the other man. He could hear Damen’s heart and it was fluttering wildly under his ribcage, like a lost bird trying to escape.

Laurent realised his heart was in the same state.

Laurent also realised he had missed the feeling of Damen’s skin and the smell of his perfume.

And Laurent had no idea what he was doing anymore.

“Take me home,” he whispered, closing his eyes and pressing against Damen as much as he could, holding him and running his palm over the burning surface of his torso. It felt like polished limestone after a long day in the sun.

“Are you drunk?” asked Damen carefully, placing a shy hand on Laurent’s head, stroking his hair.

“You don’t understand,” he stated sharply, breathing hard against the flushed skin. “I need you to take me home.” He looked up, meeting Damen’s eyes. Damen understood.

Damen had to grab his coat. Damen had to tell Nikandros to find someone to cover for him. Damen had to find a cab. But throughout all of this, he didn't let go of Laurent’s hand, who kept a strong grasp on him, making sure to never leave his side. Once they were inside the car and Damen told the driver his address, they were touching again. Laurent had thrown a leg over Damen’s knee and leaned against him and Damen had an arm wrapped around him, fingers lost in his long hair, warm lips on his forehead. It all felt so right. And he was no longer scared.

 

 

** VII - 3 **

 

 

Damen’s apartment was dark when they walked in. He wanted to turn the lights on but Laurent didn't let go of him. As soon as the door was closed, he tugged on his hand, trying to remove his coat and expose his naked body.

“Do you want a drink?” asked Damen, a large hand resting on Laurent’s hip reassuringly.

He shook his head immediately. “Where is your bedroom?”

Damen managed to look lost even through the darkness. It took him a few seconds to move, dragging Laurent behind him by the hand, his thumb caressing it still. The door was open and as soon as they walked in, he turned around and Laurent came in contact with his chest. Finally, the coat was off and he was free to run his hands over his bare skin, he was free to hold Damen. And Damen held him back.

The first kiss he pressed on the man’s collarbone was full of unspoken doubts. The next one, full of unspoken desires. His lips didn't feel dry any more, they felt raw and sensitive like his entire body, his eyelashes fluttering lightly against Damen’s skin, making him inhale sharply every time Laurent would blink.

Laurent took off his shoes and Damen followed, throwing them somewhere. It didn't matter. His belt was off, Laurent’s jacket was off and, suddenly, his feet weren't touching the ground. He clung tightly to Damen, legs wrapped around his waist.

They were staring at each other through the darkness. All Laurent could see was the glimmer in Damen’s eyes and the shiny centre of his thick lips. “You still haven’t kissed me,” he murmured, blinking slowly.

“Do you want me to kiss you?” he asked and it meant the whole world to Laurent.

“ _Yes_.”

Their noses touched and it was both the same as the night of the concert and nothing like it. The soft touches, the desire, the hot breaths mingling together were all still there but all of the uncertainty was gone. This time, it was Damen who pressed his lips against Laurent’s, a kiss so wholesome, so full, the wet sound of their mouths coming together filling the room. When Damen kissed him again, deeper and longer, Laurent whimpered and his legs squeezed the man’s thick waist tightly. Damen responded, his arms pressing him closer into the hold. He tasted like tequila and cigarettes and peppermint from the chewing gum he had during the ride there. Laurent realised he could taste all of that because Damen’s tongue was now inside his mouth and it all felt so surreal.

When Damen effortlessly carried him to the bed and placed him down with such care, he smiled. “Are you sure you’re not drunk?” asked Damen, but there was no amusement in his voice. He sounded perfectly serious and inquisitive.

“I am certain,” he answered, brushing his fingers over Damen’s jaw. “Are you?”

“No. But I'm beginning to question that.”

They both chuckled, but then, Damen was on the bed and his arms wrapped around Laurent again, pulling him so close. Their bodies were covered by a downy duvet and their legs tangled together but it was where skin touched skin that made Laurent’s heart stop. His fingers ran all over Damen’s face, just as gently as before, drawing small circles over his cheeks and jaw where he would find stubble. Then, he pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I'm sorry,” he said, his lips moving over Damen’s as he spoke.

“Did I do something wrong?” asked Damen against his mouth. Laurent inhaled sharply and just shook his head, starting to place small, wet kisses on Damen’s mouth. He felt Damen sucking on his lower lip and he whimpered again, cupping his face and pulling it closer.

Damen’s hand was once again rested in the dip of his thin waist and his fingers sneaked under his T-shirt, brushing over the skin they found there. “Do you want me to take it off?” he asked, waiting.

“Yes.”

And he did, swiftly, cold air coming in contact with Laurent’s body. As soon as he was back in Damen’s hold, everything felt warm again. The man’s hands were now exploring places on Laurent’s body that he had never touched before, fingers moving over his ribs and making Laurent jump slightly, palms pressing into his hips, squeezing them and stroking them in rolling motions. Damen’s thumb brushed over Laurent’s nipple and he gasped, arching his back immediately and making Damen chuckle. “Is that good or bad?” he asked, the laughter replaced by genuine need to know.

“Good.”

It was awfully beautiful and yet so peculiar. Laurent had never had someone touch him like that. He had no idea that just the feeling of soft strokes over his chest would make his jeans feel so tight and restrictive or that kisses could send such strong shudders through his entire body, all of them originating from the tension that gathered somewhere deep inside every time Damen’s tongue pressed against his own. He had no idea that Damen’s finger slipping under the waist of his trousers would make him gasp yet again. This entire ordeal was terribly embarrassing on his side. “What about these?”

“Off,” he commanded, starting to unbutton them. Damen helped, pulling down on them and leaving Laurent in his underwear. His hands were immediately on the zipper of Damen’s trousers. “And these?”

“Please,” he begged and Laurent unzipped them. He shouldn't have been surprised that Damen was not wearing underwear but he inhaled a fast, trembling breath when he felt the velvety hardness of his cock against his fingers. His face was suddenly hidden in the crook of Damen’s neck and his hands didn't move from Damen’s groin.

The length of his cock was pressed against Laurent’s palm, a thumb brushing lightly over its head, listening to the rhythm of Damen’s breathing change. “Good?” he whispered, his voice so small and shy. Damen nodded and rolled his hips forwards against his hand.

He wrapped his fingers around it tentatively and stroked it, slowly and lacking in any skill or plans. But with every movement of his timid, trembling hand, Damen would breathe harder and louder and his body would arch against him and his toes would curl against Laurent’s calves and that was almost enough to drive Laurent over the edge by itself. When his hand got a more confident grip on Damen’s cock and started pumping it, Damen gasped and then chuckled, making Laurent stop instantly. “You’re gonna make me cum,” he said, kissing the top of Laurent’s head.

Slowly, his face emerged from the man’s neck and he looked at Damen, unsure. “Isn't that the point?” he asked, fingers brushing over the head of his cock again. Damen groaned.

“Do you wanna do anything else?” he asked once the shivers of pleasure had passed through his body, kissing Laurent’s forehead.

“I don’t know,” he answered truthfully, before pressing a kiss to Damen’s jaw.

“That’s okay,” came the answer and he smiled. Of course it was okay. He only wished it would have been okay with others. He only wished his uncertainty would stop everyone else as quickly as it stopped Damen. Sweet, loving Damen who would have walked Laurent home right this second if he would ask.

He considered everything for a second before he pulled down his own underwear, kicking it away at the bottom of the bed. He pulled the duvet a bit higher and nuzzled back into Damen’s neck, pressing their bodied together, feeling himself so hard against Damen’s hip. “I think-…” he whispered, kissing the skin there. “….you should-…” another kiss and a light, feathery bite. “…fuck me.”

The grip Damen had on his hip tightened for a few moments. Laurent lifted his gaze to Damen’s and they stared at each other. His hand went down again and wrapped around Damen’s cock in the loosest hold possible, stroking him again.

“Do you want to?” he asked, fixing Damen intensely. The man’s mouth was half open and his eyelashes fluttered with every movement of Laurent’s hand.

“I-…” He gasped. “…God-…” he panted and Laurent kept going.

“Is that a yes?”

Suddenly, Damen pulled away, fast enough to make Laurent jump a bit. He opened the drawer in his side table and pulled out a pack of condoms and a bottle, dropping them on the bed. Laurent smiled, but then bit his own lip quite hard, both in excitement and worry.

When Damen pushed him on his back and sat between his legs, Laurent covered his eyes with his forearm and sighed deeply. Damen’s finger only trailed over his hard on, teasing him as Laurent squirmed on the bed. But then, he felt something hot and wet around his cock and he moaned, both hands going into Damen’s hair and holding on tight. He gasped, several times, rocking hard against Damen’s mouth. _Fuck_. He was going to cum.

Right when he was on the edge, already almost spilling into Damen’s mouth, the blowjob stopped and his wet cock fell back against his stomach. He groaned but before he could complain, there were fingers, slicked with lube, exploring the area between his legs. Damen’s hands were brushing against him again, stroking him, caressing the velvety innermost places on his thighs and slipping between his ass cheeks. He fought the urge to grab a pillow and bury his face in it. The maddening feeling that was gathering in his gut before was now sinking down, making the whole lower region of his body feel weak and sensitive.

When Damen’s fingers pushed in, his leg was bended up and back against his body and Damen kissed his knee and his thigh. His breath hitched. Damen wasn't fucking him with his fingers but he was doing something much worse. Twisting them and bending them and scissoring them inside of him, pressing them against the most sensitive spots he could find and making Laurent wail and writhe under him. He expected his vision to go blurry and everything to fade away but the opposite happened. His senses became so hyper aware of every single touch and then Damen flipped him over and he cried into the pillow, pushing his ass up into the air against Damen’s fingers, fucking himself on them. When the pace was hastened and they bended a certain way, long and thick inside of him, he started trembling and felt like his entire body was about to collapse. “Wait, _wait-…”_ And that was all he had to say before Damen’s hand stopped moving. When his fingers were out, Laurent fell against the mattress and turned on his side, every breath a tremor, every movement a spasm. Damen laid one, gentle hand on his shoulder and Laurent’s entire body jolted, making him pull back.

“Do you want some water?” he asked carefully. Laurent nodded, curling up as much as he could. He felt the duvet being lifted over his body but he didn't react. He simply wanted a few moments alone.

He barely heard Damen coming back into the room and setting the glass of water onto the side table. Laurent was still on his side, turned away from the door and Damen. The bed dipped again and the same careful fingers were brushing against his arm.

“Did I do something wrong?”

Laurent chuckled, nervously, his body shaking again. “God, no-…” he laughed, curling up even more. The worst were his legs, which were still completely tense.  Every time he would try to relax them, they would spasm and send shudders through his entire body.

“Are you alright?”

Damen sounded more concerned than ever. It had all been so good, so perfect and nothing like that night and yet, here they were again. At least he couldn't run this time.

He nodded really fast, trying to control his frantic breathing. “I'm just-…” Laurent inhaled, slowly moving his shaking hand to grasp at Damen’s. “ _Fuck-…”_

Damen shuffled closer, slowly, allowing enough time for Laurent to move away if he would want to. When Laurent allowed him, he wrapped an arm around him, pressing closer against his body and spooning him. “We don’t have to do anything,” he said, kissing the nape of his neck and Laurent turned to face him immediately, nuzzling into his neck and squeezing Damen as close as he could.

“I just-… got overwhelmed, that’s all,” he tried to explain in a whisper, kissing Damen’s neck lightly. He could feel all the tension and uncertainty leave the other man’s body. Damen must have thought he fucked up again, which just made Laurent smile against his warm skin. “I'm sorry,” he murmured.

“What for?”

“You wanted to fuck me,” he stated casually, kissing his neck again.

“No,” said Damen, shaking his head and placing small pecks on top of Laurent’s head. “I wanted to make you dinner. And take you to the beach,” he muttered into his hair, running his hands over Laurent’s naked back. “And rub your feet and buy you cotton candy.” He paused, cupping Laurent’s face and kissing his nose. “And then maybe fuck you, too,” he added with a chuckle. Laurent laughed, hiding his face again and biting on Damen’s neck, but then he went silent for a bit.

“…You wouldn't wanna do all of that if you knew anything about me,” he murmured, clinging to him.

“I want to get to know you.”

Laurent sighed, slipping a leg between Damen’s warm thighs, not caring about the sweat he found there. He realised Damen was now wearing underwear. “I've never kissed anyone before,” he said, out of the blue, making sure not to move at all in anticipation.

Damen simply stroked his hair.

“Or done anything else like this,” he added, fingers brushing over the side of Damen’s body, tentatively, pushing his leg higher between Damen’s thighs. “I'm not sure I can do it.”

“You don’t have to,” finally came the reply and Laurent allowed himself to breathe. “I still want to make you dinner, though.”

Those large, thick arms wrapped around him in the tightest hold yet and Laurent nodded fast into Damen’s neck, getting dozens of kisses on his head. The remnant of guilt still surged through his body but a certain peaceful drowsiness took over him. _He wanted, more than anything, to be safe_. And he was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am tempted to let this be the ending but I'm not certain yet. Would anyone like more chapters or should this be it?
> 
> UPDATE: I'm sorry, this is indeed the last chapter. But I am planning to do a series of drabbles based on this universe because a lot of you (and myself) feel like there are things left to address and would also like to see more of Damen and Laurent in this universe. So if you have any headcanons that you want me to write, just comment with them and I will try to add them!


End file.
